Cracked Concrete
by Gratiae
Summary: It takes a lot to shape a person into who they are. People, places, events, love and loss knit together to forge the soul of a person. What and who shaped Derek Morgan? COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.**

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"_You have a choice. Live or die. Every breath is a choice. Every minute is a choice. To be or not to be." – Chuck Palahniuk_

o o o o

21 October, 1999

"Hey, kid. You okay?" A woman donning a pair of blue latex gloves walked up to him and looked at the young man, concern written plainly on her weathered face.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. I'll be fine. This is just, uh, this is just my first, um…"

"It's your first suicide. I remember mine. It's all right. Go get yourself some air, Derek. Clear your head. Suicides are always hard."

Stripping off his own latex gloves, Derek Morgan tossed them in the trashcan as he walked out of the garage onto the driveway. He dragged his hand over his face and looked around. No artist could have painted the neighbourhood more picturesquely than it appeared before him. The cul-de-sac belonged on a movie set or in a sitcom not in a Chicago suburb ten miles from the tough neighbourhood he grew up in. Every aspect of the houses appeared perfect: clean brick, crisply white siding, painted gates, perfectly manicured landscaping, fully matured trees planted in front, nice cars parked in the driveways. Only activity marred his idyllic surroundings. What could possibly have been so ghastly to make someone living in a_Leave it to Beaver_ world feel like they had to pull the trigger?

Derek turned away from the surrounding houses to take in the chaos around him. One woman supported another as she sobbed. A teenage boy repeatedly kicked a well-used soccer ball at the gate causing the wood to rattle with the force of his angry kicks. A large, exhausted looking man spoke to two police officers with an eerie, unnatural calm, but Derek could see the man's hands shaking. A sedan pulled up behind the blue CSI van, and a pair of women walked briskly from the car up the driveway to the sobbing woman. A lean young man leaned against one of the cars parked in front of the garage, scowling furiously but not looking up from the pavement. The medical examiner reread her scrawled notes as she walked from the garage to her van. One act and these peoples' lives had been flipped upside down and sideways.

The only person who looked out of place sat in the grass away from everyone else leaning against the brick of the house, passively observing the same chaos Derek watched. She held a notebook in her lap and a pen in her hand, every once in a while looking down and scribbling for a bit and then looking back up. Derek almost thought she didn't belong here, but the uncanny resemblance she held to the corpse lying behind the trailer in the garage fifty feet away dispelled any idea of her being an outsider. Even as he walked in her direction, he knew he shouldn't. He should be walking back towards the garage, back towards his job, but instead he found himself striding over to the girl sitting in the grass.

"Hi," he said cautiously, looking down at the blonde, offering her a tentative smile.

"Hello." She looked up without expression and stared at him.

"I'm Derek. Derek Morgan."

"Congratulations. My name's Samantha. You can call me Sammie, I guess."

"May I?" He asked, gesturing towards the ground besides her.

"Sure, why not?" Sammie shrugged, writing in her notebook, not looking at him as he sat down next to her. "You're a CSI."

"Uh, no. I'm a cop, but we're a tech short today so I got called in to help."

"You picked a pretty gruesome career path. Have you seen a lot of suicides?" She finally raised her gaze from the purple ink covering the pages in her lap to look at him.

"This is my first one, actually."

"Yeah, mine too. I feel like I'm reacting wrong. I dunno… I don't know what to do with myself." Sammie tucked her hair behind her ear and sighed, leaning her head back to rest it against the house and stare up at the unrelentingly bright sky above them.

"I don't think there's a right or wrong way to act at a time like this, Sammie," Derek sat unsure what he should say, caught between wanting to offer comfort and being uncertain of his place. Instead, he simply watched and waited.

"Heh… there should be a guidebook or something. An instruction manual like a computer has. Something with step-by-step instructions – first, do this; secondly, complete this task. That would make everything so much easier. At least I'd know what I should be doing."

"I've been a cop for a about six months now. Everyone reacts to tragedy differently. Your reactions and feelings are just as justified as your brothers," Derek assured her, gesturing towards the teenager who was still slamming the soccer ball into the gate.

"James is going to break that poor ball if he keeps abusing it like that. He's had that ball for five years now. Mum and Dad gave it to him when he was twelve and made the j-high team."

"J-high?"

"Oh, um, slang for junior high. Picked it up back in high school. My friends and I used to refer to the kids in junior high who acted like they were…

"Not really important though, is it?" Sammie wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and, for the first time, Derek realized how fragile she seemed. "One bullet and he's gone. It doesn't feel real. I feel like I'm in some alternate reality, some horrible, twisted dream, and when I wake up he'll still be here and life'll go on like usual. Everything will be all right. But life's never going to be normal again. Dammit, I wasn't even supposed to be here! I was supposed to be on campus. I only came home to watch the finals of James' soccer tournament."

Sammie dropped her head into her hands. Her short, choppy hair fell to shield her face and her shoulders shook with her sobs. Derek tentatively ran a hand over her back, still unsure if he should really be doing this. He started a bit in surprise when she leaned against him and cried. But, then, what had he honestly expected would happen when he came over here to talk to her? Staying quiet, he continued to awkwardly rub the girls back as she shifted from outright sobbing to quiet crying to, eventually, the occasional sniffle.

"I'm sorry. You've got some strange girl blubbering all over you."

"It's alright. You just lost someone you love – crying's completely understandable."

"I don't know if _love_'s the right word," Sammie scoffed angrily, kicking at the grass with her foot and pushing her hair away from her eyes again. "He was a mean son of a bitch. This doesn't surprise me at all. One last way to ruin our lives."

"Sammie, he's your…"

"Yeah, well, life sucks and then you die. James and I lost our dad a long time before he off-ed himself last night. He loved to just mess with us, do everything and anything he could to completely fuck us over. He never actually gave a shit about us as long as we appeared perfect in every way so we wouldn't make him look bad. As long as he could pretend and make everyone around him think his life was a freakin' utopia of domestic bliss, he was a happy camper. He'd brag to everyone about James' soccer but never actually took the time to attend a game. He'd show off my music and boast about competitions I won, but always told me I wasn't good enough. He made Mum feel like complete shit all the while letting people believe the two of them were just so in love. He could never be bothered to care as long as we kept up the façade he painted for everyone else. Kind of ironic that he's the one that destroyed the pretense he worked so hard to create, not us. Jackass."

"Life's a lot more complex then what's on the surface." Derek smiled sadly.

"The worst part – despite everything Dad's done and said and everything… I still love him and I'm going to miss him so much. How fucked up is that?"

"It's not, Sammie. It's completely understandable. No matter what he did, he's still your father. He…"

"Derek? I need your help in here."

"I guess that's my cue. I should go. I'm sorry. Here, if you ever need to talk or just want someone to listen, give me a call, okay?" Derek took her pen and scrawled his mobile number across the top of her notebook before pushing himself up from the grass.

"Derek. Thanks. I didn't realize how much I needed to talk."

"No problem. Don't loose that number."

Tugging a second set of blue gloves out of his back pocket, Derek braced himself to walk back into the garage. He picked up his borrowed kit and knelt next to the prone body, undoing the clasp on the mans watch and slipping the wedding ring off, placing both in a paper folder, noticing for the first time the cracks in the cement floor and the bowed wooden shelves lining the walls, faded paint and objects held together with duct tape and sheer luck, finally seeing the exhausted, defeated expression the man wore even in death. Startled, he jumped slightly when the weathered woman knelt next to him.

"You okay, Morgan?"

"Yeah, I think so. Thanks for giving me a few minutes."

"Did you find what you needed?"

"I think so."

o o o o

_"Suicide sometimes proceeds from cowardice, but not always; for cowardice sometimes prevents it; since as many live because they are afraid to die, as die because they are afraid to live." – Charles Caleb Colton_

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A/N:**

**Obviously, this is set before Derek joins the FBI and is still a beat cop in Chicago. This started because I was wondering about what kind of events (besides his father and Carl Buford of course) lead to Morgan becoming the person we see on the show a half-decade later.**

**Thanks for reading! I really hope you like it and stick around. Tell me what you think, good or bad!**

**Love, Thalia**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.**

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"_The pain of the mind is worse than the pain of the body." – Publillius Syrus_

o o o o

23 October, 1999

Derek Morgan lay in bed, nearly asleep, after an exhausting twelve-hour shift. The street thugs, petty thieves, gang bangers… they were all exceptionally busy today and refused to give law enforcement an uneventful millisecond. Derek and his partner, Sergeant Kyle Murphy, had spent the day driving from scene to scene to the station to another scene and starting the cycle over again. Light glowed around the edges of the blackout curtains his sisters had hung up for him one day while he was at work and so the room was mostly dark and cool when his cell phone rang.

Groaning in annoyance, he smacked his hand on the nightstand trying to find his phone without opening his eyes. He cursed when he accidently knocked the phone off the table and listened to it skid across the floor of his bedroom. Derek opened his eyes and rolled out of bed, following the annoying ringtone until he found the phone and picked it up.

"Hello?"

_"Derek?"_

The female voice on the other line wasn't his mother or his sisters. He knew the voice; it was vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place it. Though he could hear near-hysteria and panic lacing it.

"Who is this?" Derek was wide-awake now and he wiped the last semblance of sleep from his eyes.

_"Sammie. Samantha Murdoch? We met when my…"_

"I remember," Derek cut in, saving her from saying the word suicide. "How are you?"

_"I can't get the blood off the floor."_

"What?"

_"The blood on the floor of the garage. Dad's blood. I can't get it off."_

Sammie's voice was wavering on the verge of crying in a way that reminded him of his little sister Desiree and Derek pulled a fresh pair of jeans over his boxers. He listened to her as he tugged a brown leather jacket over an old Northwestern t-shirt on and slipped a belt through the loops of his jeans.

"Sammie. Listen to me for a minute. Get out of the garage." By the front door, Derek grabbed his keys, shoving his feet into his sneakers and bending down to align the tongues under the laces.

_"But I have to clean up. I'm sorry… I shouldn't have called. This isn't your problem. I'm sorry."_

"Hang on a second. Of course you should have called," Derek held his helmet in one hand and the mobile to his ear with the second and jogged down the two flights of stairs from his third story apartment to the parking lot where his motorcycle waited. "I wouldn't have given you my number if I didn't want or expect you to use it, Sammie."

_"I keep smearing the blood around. I'm trying to clean it up, but all I'm doing is smearing it all over. And it's leaving this stain on the concrete."_

"Sammie, get out of the garage."

_"I have to clean it."_

"I'm on my way over. Just get out of the garage. Please. You shouldn't be in there."

_"But –"_

"I'll be there in twenty minutes at the most." Derek swung his leg over the bike. "Go inside and get something to drink. Twenty minutes."

_"You don't have to come."_

"I want to." That was the truth. He did want to. He knew he really shouldn't be involving himself with a victim's family member in any way, even if it wasn't a romantic relationship. By doing so he put his job in jeopardy, but he'd seen the anguish on her face, could hear it in her voice now, and he couldn't ignore the way that anguish gnawed on his soul. "Sammie, please. Get out of the garage. I'll be there soon."

Once he'd talked her out of the garage, he hung up, put on his helmet and began the short ride from his apartment to the suburb of Riverside. Derek had thought about Sammie briefly since he'd met her, but, if he was honest, hadn't dwelled on her. Now, though, maneuvering his bike through traffic with the intention of going to her, he couldn't get her face out of his head.

Sammie sat on the grass in front of her house, repeatedly running her fingertips along the back of a tiny orange kitten, when Derek pulled up and killed the engine, pushing down the kickstand and dismounting. He took the helmet off and was surprised to see the girl on her feet and hurrying towards him.

"Hey," he greeted her, surprised as she hugged him tightly and buried her face in his jacket. Tentatively, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, his touch ginger and uncertain. "Hey, hey… it's okay. I've gotchya."

"I'm so glad you're here." His jacket muffled her voice and he gently ran his hand over her back the way his mother had always done for him and his sisters when they were sick or sad.

What the hell was he doing here?

Sammie pulled back and gave him a watery-eyed smile.

"You shouldn't have gone into the garage," was all Derek could think of to say as the girl bent down to pick up the cat weaving itself between her legs. "You should have let someone else clean up."

"There is no one else," Sammie looked up at him. "I've recently learned that the city doesn't really send people to clean up crime scenes. TV lies and I've watched too many episodes of _JAG_ and _Law and Order_. We have to clean it up."

"Why isn't anyone helping you?"

"It's complicated."

"Try me."

"James isn't up to it. He's trying to pretend it didn't happen. Mum's inconsolable. Gramps is too old and too sick. Aunt Allegra is calling all my dad's family. Aunt Marsi is with Mum. Uncle Nico's with James ignoring the entire mess."

"There was another lady wasn't there? What about her?"

"You mean my dad's best friend slash the woman he was cheating on Mum with? She's in with Mum trying to console her."

"Your mom doesn't know?"

"Oh no. She knows. We all know. Carol doesn't know we know and I don't think Dad knows we know either. Knew. I don't think Dad knew. Not that us knowing would have made a difference to him. I told you he was a bastard."

"Why don't you go inside? I'll clean up the garage."

"I don't want to go inside. I need to do something. I can't sit there anymore. I can't be around the crying anymore."

"Do you have any friends you could call to come hang out with you while I clean?"

Sammie shook her head and frowned. "Everyone's away at college. No one stayed in Chicago. You don't have to clean up. You don't even know me. I shouldn't have called. I'm sorry."

"You really have to stop apologizing. I came because I wanted to. You have nothing to be sorry for."

"I made you feel like you had to come."

"No, you didn't. C'mon. Let's go see what I can do about the mess." Derek started walking towards the garage, walking at a pace that let her easily fall in step beside him. She was tall for a girl. Five-seven maybe? The top of her head was directly level with his eyes, about the same at his mom. "What's your cat's name?"

"What? Oh. Crookshanks," Sammie grinned bashfully. "Gramps gave him to me. I always wanted a cat, but Dad wouldn't let me get one, so when I went to college Gramps gave me Crookshanks."

"Isn't that the name of the cat in the _Harry Potter_ book that came out this summer? _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of_… something or other."

"Azkaban. And yes. I'm a shameless _Harry Potter_ fan. I know I'm a little old for kids' books, but I love _Harry Potter_."

"What college lets cats in dorms?"

"No college I know of. I don't live on campus. I live in an apartment with three other girls. I go to UI though. UIUC."

"My sister Sarah went to Illinois too, but did her first year at the Chicago campus and then moved to the Urbana-Champaign campus. Three hours south, right?"

"Two and a half. Two fifteen if you're speeding and two flat if you're _really_ speeding. Not that I've ever speed, Mr. Police Officer."

"You were a passenger, right?"

"Not even. I heard about. From strangers. They weren't even talking to me. I just happened to pass by. That's how far from speeding I am."

"I can't give you a ticket for talking about speeding, you know," Derek smiled as they stopped just outside the garage. Sammie hesitated, not really wanting to go back inside.

"Thank you."

"For what? I haven't done anything."

"For making me smile. I needed that. I really needed to not think about this whole thing for a second."

"You're welcome. I really think it's a bad idea for you to go back in the garage. Let me do this."

"I have to do this. I have to do something. If I don't, I'll loose it."

"You're, what?, eighteen? You shouldn't have to deal with this."

"Nineteen. And most people have to deal with things they shouldn't have to. I'm sure you've had some things happen to you that shouldn't have happened." Sammie stared into the garage for a second before taking a deep breath and stepping inside, followed closely by Derek. As his eyes adjusted, he saw two pails and some towels and sponges around where he remembered the body of Tom Murdoch had lain a few days ago.

Derek shrugged off his jacket and dropped his helmet along the wall. It took a little experimenting before he found an effective way to get the coagulated blood and bits of brain matter from the cement floor into the pail not containing a bleach and water mixture. He'd found an old, forgotten dustpan shoved into the bottom of a wooden utility closet that Sammie explained she and James had built with their dad practically a decade prior and scrapping the blood into the dustpan with a hand shovel seemed to be the most effective and least messy form of transporting the red gel.

Once the concrete was free of all sticky substances that could be scrapped off, Derek poured pure bleach onto the rust coloured stain and carried the pail down to the street, pulling off the manhole and dumping the solution directly into the sewer. He rinsed out the pail at the spigot on the side of the house before setting it in the sun to dry and, when he got back into the garage, he saw Sammie sitting with her back against the wall, sobbing.

He lowered himself to sit next to her and put his arm around her shoulder, letting her hold onto him while she cried. He talked to her about random nothingness. Chicago was supposed to get the first snow of the winter soon, the Blackhawks had creamed the Flyers last weekend but lost to the Maple Leafs on Friday, the police department was trying to prepare for the Y2K before it happened to try and eliminate any possibility of incorrect data, his neighbor didn't understand the Y2K problem and thought the world was ending so had stocked up on massive amounts of canned food and water.

She fell asleep. He was talking about seeing the new movie _Fight Club_ with his sisters and mom when he realized she'd cried herself to sleep. Carefully, he picked her up and laid her down over by his things, putting her head on his jacket for a pillow. Her brown eyes were closed, the lids red and puffy from crying so hard, and her straight, strawberry blonde hair fell in front of her face. Derek watched her for a minute before turning back to the pool of bleach he'd been letting marinate over the stain.

"Sam? Whose bike's out front?" A tan, brown-haired teenage boy Derek recognized as Sammie's younger brother came into the garage. Derek held a finger up when James saw him and pointed towards where she slept. "Who are you?"

"Derek Morgan. I'd shake your hand, but mine are covered in bleach."

"You're the cop from when Dad off-ed himself." James spoke as if he didn't care, as if his father's action hadn't blown a Grand Canyon sized hole in his life that would never fully heal.

"Yes, I am."

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm cleaning."

"I thought they didn't send people to clean up. I thought we had to do it. Why would they send you anyway? You're a cop, not a janitor."

"No one sent me," Derek stood up, drying his hands on a faded hand rag that had originally been a mans tubesock from the pile Sammie had pulled out of a stained and crusty canvas rucksack. "Sammie called me so I came to help."

James narrowed his blue eyes and stared at him. "Sam called you? Why?"

"She needed someone to talk to."

"You're too old for her," James walked past him to the far end of the garage and an old cardboard refrigerator box that stored various sports balls and pucks and several different sized hockey sticks.

"Excuse me?"

"Leave her alone." James dug out his soccer ball. "She's too young for you. You're, like, twenty-five, dude. Go after some chick your own age."

"I'm twenty-three and I'm not 'going after' your sister."

"Good. Don't."

"You play for your high school?" Derek gestured at the ball James carried.

"Starting keeper. Varsity. You play?"

"Naw. Not soccer. I played football."

"What position?" James paused, his curiosity pricked.

"Quarterback. I played in college for two years, but I busted my knee and had to stop. Now I just toss the ball around with the kids at the youth center."

"Yeah? I'm a kicker for JV, but just second string. Henderson, our starter, is a helluva lot better than I am."

"I'm sure you hold your own."

"Damn. I can't imagine busting my knee. Not playing soccer? That'd be like hell."

"Are you thinking about where you're going to go to college?"

"I'm only in grade ten. Coach said a few schools asked about me, but I'll probably just go to CCC."

"If they're already looking at you, you'll probably be offered a few scholarships."

"I don't like school." Neither spoke for a bit before James opened his mouth uncertainly. "If you're… gonna… ya know, be around, maybe we can toss the pigskin some."

"That'd be cool, kid. Maybe you can teach me a little something about that weird football with the round ball and the nets."

James laughed and nodded. "Sure. I'll seeya later."

"Later."

What the hell was he doing here?

He had scrubbed the stain four different times by the time Sammie woke up and, though the rusty red stain persisted, it was definitely less vibrant now and mixed with the chalky white colour that the bleach had produced after several scrubbings.

"What happened?" Sammie pushed herself up and rubbed the small of her back.

"You fell asleep." He smiled at her. "I don't think the stain's going to get any better than this. I'll come paint the floor later if you want. Get some cement paint or something. They sell it at the Lowe's by my mom's house."

"Do you want something to eat?"

"What?"

"Are you hungry? Aunt Marsi is cooking. I can smell it," Sammie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Chicken Parm. I'm pretty sure that's what she made. Do you want to stay for dinner?"

"I don't want to intrude," Derek said lamely.

"You won't be. Aunt Marsi always makes enough for a battalion of marines. Mostly because my family is about as large as a battalion of marines," Sammie grinned. "You'll never get Italian food better than what's cooking in that kitchen. Please? I'd like you to stay. Though, I will warn you, if you stay you'll be overrun by a mob of loud Italians."

"If you're sure," he relented slowly and followed her into the house.

"Samantha, who's this?" A large, white-haired man sitting at the kitchen counter looked up from his newspaper when they entered.

"Gramps, this is Derek Morgan. Derek, this is my Gramps, George Campaniello. The woman behind the stove is my aunt, Marsala or Marsi. That's Nico, my uncle. The one on the phone is one of my other aunts, Allerga. Wait. Where's Gram?"

"Gram is with Aunt Carmela at the restaurant. Nice to meet you, Derek." George pushed himself out of the chair with a grunt and shook the younger man's hand. Marsi put down the wooden spoon and wrapped him in a hug after George had moved away. Allerga gave a silent, distracted wave and Nico sat staring ahead with his eyes on the television.

"I'm sorry. My uncle has no manners," Sammie scowled, picking up a Beanie Baby and chucking it at him, skillfully nailing him squarely in the back of the head. "When's dinner going to be ready? And when's the family arriving?"

"Ten minutes. To both. Check the garlic bread for me, will you, _Cara_?"

Sammie cracked the oven a bit and peaked in. "It needs another three minutes. The butter's not completely absorbed yet. It smells good though."

"What have you been doing?" George picked his newspaper back up.

"Cleaning the garage. Derek did most of it."

"You're an angel," Marsi told him gratefully. "I was dreading dealing with that. Thank you."

"It's not a problem."

"I think I've called everyone," Allerga said, finally putting the phone down. "Everyone in Canada anyway. Did any of the Murdoch's leave Canada besides your dad?"

Sammie shook her head no and pulled out several cookie sheets of garlic bread. Instantly, Derek was glad he stayed. The smell was intoxicating and his stomach grumbled slightly.

"Do you mind if I wash my hands? I still have bleach residue on them."

"Of course. The bathroom's right through there."

"Thanks." Derek followed where Sammie pointed and closed the door behind him. He turned the faucet handle with his elbow and thrust his hands under the water. After getting the dusty bleach deposits off, he splashed some water on his face and looked at himself in the mirror.

What the hell was he doing here?

o o o o

"_The only thing that makes life possible is permanent, intolerable uncertainty; not knowing what comes next." – Ursula K. LeGuin_

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**A/N:**

**World Cup started today! Neither game was particularly good. Decent, but not really great games. Nothing spectacular happened, except for when Nicolas Lodeiro (Uruguay) got a well deserved red card for slamming his cleats into a Frenchie's ankle on a slide tackle. Completely missed the ball. Ridiculous. Could have broken Frenchie's leg. Other than that, nothing exciting. Sorry... I'm a HUGE soccer gal. Love the World Cup.**

**Anyways, I hope you like _Cracked Concrete_ so far! Thanks for reading. :) Please, tell me what you think, good or bad!**

**Love, Thalia**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.**

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"_The purpose of life is not to be happy – but to __matter__, to be productive, to be useful, to have it make some difference than you have lived at all." – Leo Rosten_

o o o o

29 October, 1999

"Derek, what are you doing?" Fran Morgan leaned against the doorframe and watched her son dig around in the closet. Brushing her auburn bangs out of her eyes, she pursed her lips and crossed her arms across her chest.

"I'm borrowing your paint brush, the roller one, and the paint tray," Derek told her over his shoulder as he pulled the paint-covered paint tray from an opaque Rubbermaid tub and tossed it onto the rug behind him, continuing his search for the roller.

"No, Derek. I mean, what are you _doing_? Hold your horses a moment and look at me, young man." Straightening up, he dutifully turned around and looked at his mother. "Why are you going back there?"

"To paint their garage floor so they don't have to be reminded what happened there. At least not visually reminded. The stain is really bad, Mom."

"Are you sure that's the only reason?"

"Why does everyone keep saying stuff like that? Please, stop making this into something it's not, Mom." Derek grimaced, both annoyed at and offended by what his mother, along with Sarah and Desiree, insinuated when they ask him that question. "She's a kid."

"She's a legal adult."

"She's nineteen. I'm four years older than she is. She's still in college and she just lost her dad. You raised me better than that, Mom. Besides, Dad would be doing the same thing."

"Dad would have been in his forties, not his twenties. Now, I feel for these people, I really do, Derek, but I don't want you getting in too deep. You're still new on the force. This might jeopardize your job. And, besides that, this girl is fragile. Like you said, she just lost her dad. She has a lot of grieving left to do. Don't you go and be there for her if you don't plan on being there for a very long time."

"I'm just being a friend to her. And to her brother! Isn't that what you raised me to do?"

"She's going to fall in love with you. Don't look at me like that. I'm not being crazy or being silly. She will. You're a good man, a very handsome man, and you're being there for her when she needs someone most. Mark my words, baby boy, before the end she'll fall in love with you."

"Mama, she has a boyfriend. Some guy named Nick. They've been dating for two years. Besides, I'm not interesting in dating her or anyone else for that matter."

"So, where is this Nick during all this?"

"He's at school. Why are you making such a big deal about this?"

Fran looked down and sighed before looking back up at him. "Just be careful, okay?"

"I will, Ma. I promise."

"And get a haircut. You're starting to look like Bernie Mac."

"I love you too, Mama."

"Don't forget we're going to dinner tonight to celebrate Sarah's internship. We'll have to find a new place to go, though. Ponsiglione's is still closed."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

Dipping the roller back into the paint pan, he got a good coating of slate grey paint before lifting it out and rolling the paint onto the cement. The door to the garage had been unlocked when he got there despite the fact that no one was home. If his mom left her garage door unlocked she'd be robbed in an instant, but here, ten, fifteen miles away, an unlocked garage was undisturbed.

It took a little over an hour to empty the garage so he could paint the floor and, while he was carting things to the driveway, one of the neighbours, a middle aged man named Parker Thompson, came over from across the grassy island in the middle of the cul-de-sac to help.

"_Terrible, isn't it?" Parker puffed, as he pushed the back of the utility trailer while Derek lifted the hitch end and pulled. Grunting noncommittally, Derek winced as the weight of the trailer pulled on his back and arms. "I've known them since Samantha was just a baby. They moved in when Andria was pregnant with James. I never would have expected this. I mean, I've known Tom for nearly two decades. He seemed like such a together kind of man. He always seemed to have it all together."_

_As grateful as Derek was for the help, at least with moving this trailer, he really wasn't enjoying this man's company. He seemed like a nice enough man, troubled and confused by the abrupt and violent death of his friend, but Derek really wasn't in the mood to listen to him talk out his emotional turmoil. He'd been looking forward to using the time to think and sweat out his own frustrations._

"_How do you know the family, again?"_

"_I'm a friend of Sammie's." Derek gritted the response through his teeth as he set the drop-leg jack and cranked it even with one hand, still holding the half-ton piece of metal up with his left hand and his knee. Damn, this thing was heavy. Finally, with the trailer safely on the ground, Derek let go with an audible grunt and rubbed his biceps. He was strong, but he'd never lifted anything quite that heavy without real help, and Parker Thompson really did not constitute 'real help.'_

"_I should have called the police," Parker muttered more to himself than anything else. The confession was so quiet Derek barely heard it, almost wasn't sure if he'd imagined it or not, but the look of tormented guilt on the older man's face convinced him he'd heard correctly._

"_Excuse me?" The pain in Derek's arms and back momentarily forgotten as he moved around the horn of the trailer to where Parker stood behind the back end._

"_I should have called the police. Even if I was wrong, I should have called. I didn't want to believe it. I didn't want to believe it could be true."_

"_What could be true?"_

"_I mean, things like that are supposed to happen here. Not with the man who'll chat with you for hours about anything. He was so nice. That doesn't happen here. I should have called."_

"_Parker, you have to give me a clue here."_

"_The bruises," Parker hung his head in shame and looked down sadly. Derek was still fumbling for words when Parker continued. "Sammie or James. They'd wear long sleeves in the middle of summer, sunglasses when it's raining, Sammie would actually where make-up. They'd say they got them playing soccer with their cousins. Balls don't make bruises like that. Sammie broke a few ribs last year, but I don't…"_

_Sitting down, Derek stopped registering whatever Parker was saying, just wished he were closer to the punching bag hanging in his apartment._

_It just kept getting worse._

_Those two kids didn't deserve this level of hell._

Parker had returned to his own home hours ago and now Derek was finishing the last corner of the garage. The grey paint looked clean and even, though still slick and wet. The sports watch his mom had given him read nearly three and he wondered briefly where the family was. Though, he was kind of glad he'd had the time alone to both digest what Parker had said and to finish the garage without listening to Sammie try to 'help' the roller right out of his hand.

Picking up the paint tray, Derek walked out of the garage and over to the spigot on the side of the house to rise off the tray and the roller. He had just begun to carry things back into the now dry garage when cars started pulling into the driveway and line the street in front of the house. Loud shouting in both English and Italian started as soon as the doors opened and people started pouring out.

"_Nonno_! _Nonna_! _Guardare_!"

"_Zia_! _Zia_!"

"Mamma!"

"_Vieni qui_, Paola!"

_Nonno_ meant 'Grandpa,' so _Nonna_ must mean 'Grandma,' right? That made sense. _Zia_ was familiar, but he couldn't remember what it meant. Derek tried to reason his way though the few words he knew, trying to understand what was being shouted. Everything else meant nothing.

"Derek!"

"Hey kid," Derek easily caught the six year old that launch herself at him and lifted her up to his eye level. "Nice to see you again too, Gia."

"What are you doing?" Gia peered over his shoulder into the garage curiously.

"I painted the floor for your cousins and your Aunt Andria. The paint's dry now so I'm putting everything back."

"So Sammie doesn't have to be sad anymore," Gia said seriously. "Do you like Sammie?"

"Of course I like Sammie."

"Good. She's nice."

"I think so," Derek liked the kid. She was obnoxiously blunt, but sweet and had a smile that could make even the saddest person smile.

"I like you."

"I like you too, Gia."

"I like you better than Nick. You should date Sammie. Nick's mean. Nick's a _faccia di merda_!"

"Gia!" Marsala, Sammie's grandmother Marsala, not her aunt Marsala, who, he had learned, was always referred to as Aunt Marsi, took Gia out of Derek's arms and started scolding the girl in rapid Italian. Apparently whatever she said she wasn't supposed to have said. "Where did you hear that?"

Ah. English. English was good.

"_Nonno_ said it," Gia pouted, turning wide, innocent eyes on her grandmother and skillfully quivered her lower lip. Damn, this kid was good.

"George!" Marsala put Gia back on the ground and stormed off in search of her husband. Derek still didn't know what the phrase meant, but was smart enough to realize it wasn't good and he didn't want to be in George's shoes right now.

"I learned a trick!" Gia's attention was instantly on something else as soon as she knew she was clear of trouble and grabbed his hand, dragging him over to where James was already kicking around a soccer ball with a group of his cousins. "James! Where's my ball?"

James reached into the old cardboard box and, after shifting around a bit, passed her a child-sized pink soccer ball. Derek watched her bounce the ball on her head a few times and lavished her with praise when she looked at him expectantly. He watched her a while longer before a few of the younger cousins called her to play with them.

Derek moved back to the garage to finished carrying in the last of what was still out on the driveway and, with the help of James, five cousins and Sammie's Uncle Rodrigo, everything, including the trailer, was safely back inside in a fraction of the time it had taken to bring it out.

"You don't have to do all this," James looked at him, twirling his soccer ball between his fingers out of habit.

"I know."

"Sammie's not here."

"Oh?"

"She and Mum are still at the funeral home with Aunt Allerga. That's where we were, by the way. At the funeral home. We had the viewing today. It was weird seeing him like that. Sam and I picked out what he was gonna be wearing and all that shit. So he was wearing this polo we gave him for Father's Day years ago. He wore it to work all the time. Over that, Sam had them put on his flannel camping shirt. We used to joke that it made him look like a lumberjack. Not to his face, but ya know. And then his Hockey Canada baseball cap. To hide the… the… the hole.

"They had this sheet over his legs. Part of me was tempted to see if they'd put on the jeans we gave, but I didn't. It was so weird. He really looked like he was just sleeping on the couch. I touched his hand and half expected him to sit up and tell me to get the fuck away from him and yell at me for waking him up. I really, really wanted him to sit up and yell at me." James voice wavered only the slightest and Derek could see the tears the boy refused to shed.

"I know what you mean," Derek admitted, looking straight ahead the same way James did. "My dad died when I was ten. We were having a barbeque with his brother and sister and my cousins and we ran out of ice. So Dad took me with him to the Seven/Eleven down the street to get some. The store got robbed while we were there and my dad tried to stop it. The robber shot him in the chest. I remember holding his hand and crying, screaming, while the clerk called nine-one-one and the robber got away.

"Dad died before the ambulance got there and the guy who killed him was never caught. My mom took my sisters and I in one at a time to say goodbye to him and he looked like he was sleeping. I wanted to yell and scream as loud as I could until he woke up. At his funeral, his partner gave me the flag that had been laid over his casket. I just stood there shaking and holding his flag when they shot off the rifles. That's when I decided I wanted to be a cop just like him.

"I wish I could tell you it gets easier right away, but it takes a long time. And, I know it's hard to believe, but, one day, you'll wake up and the fact that he's not here won't hurt quite so much."

James didn't say anything, rather they both stood watching as the cousins shifted themselves into teams, arguing and laughing.

"Everyone's trying to do normal things," James looked down at the worn out ball. "Like… if we keep playing soccer or if Gramps keeps reading the newspaper, we can pretend it never happened, even if it's only for a few minutes. You know, Dad had three brothers and a sister, twelve nieces and nephews and his dad and step-mum… none of them are coming to the funeral. Except for Uncle Colin and his wife.

"Aunt Allerga keeps calling the rest of them, trying to, ya know, pressure them into coming so it's not just us, but it's weird. I can't imagine not going to my sister's funeral. God forbid," James quickly crossed himself and muttered something in Italian, warding against any jinx or superstition.

"It gets better?"

Derek looked over at James' quiet question. "Slowly, yeah."

"He never watched me play soccer." James rolled his eyes up, trying not to let the tears fall. He was too strong for that, too tough to cry or show how much his father had hurt him. "Dad always said he'd come watch when I made varsity. That it wasn't real sports until I reached varsity. I made varsity last year. Halfway through the season they bumped me, mostly because the senior who was goalie tore his Achilles tendon and was out. I was a freshman on varsity and he never came to a game.

"Mum, Sammie, Gramps and Gram made it to every single game. All the cousins came, aunts and uncles… they all came. Not to all of the games, but to most of them. Derek, Sammie and I have twenty-three first cousins, four aunts, two uncles, six great aunts, five great uncles, and forty-seven second and third cousins. On my mom's side. They all came to games. Dad didn't come to one. I was never good enough for him. No matter what I did, I wasn't good enough. No one was."

"You can't torture yourself like that, James. If you do, you'll never stop," Derek pushed back memories of Carl Buford. He never wanted to think about that son of a bitch ever again. The man was supposed to be like a father to him, had pretended to step in a fill his dad's shoes, but, instead of caring for him, had simply _used_ him like a dispensable toy doll.

"You can't spend your life wondering what you did wrong or what you could have done to make him love you the way you wanted to be loved. You did nothing wrong, James. There's nothing wrong with you. There was something wrong with _him_. _He_ needed fixing, not you."

"How would you know? You never met my dad."

"James, I promise you, I know. I know because, in so many ways, I was you."

He'd never told anyone that. He'd never let anyone believe his experience at the hands of Carl Buford had been anything but inspirational and fatherly, much less alluded to the fact that he had been abused in any way. But something about James drew him in, much in the same way that something about Sammie had grabbed hold and refused to let go. He could see his own anguish reflected fresh in James' blue eyes and he couldn't walk away from that any more than he could walk out of his own skin.

o o o o

"_Dare to reach out your hand into the darkness, to pull another hand into the light." – Norman B. Rice_

_

* * *

_

**A/N:**

**I really hope you like this story. It's very close to my heart and I hope I bring justice to the emotions I'm portraying in this piece.**

**OH MY GOD! The World Cup today was RIDICULOUS! Where did they unearth the refs for the USA/Slovakia and Germany/Serbia games? Because they should really un-unearth them. Put them back, they're terrible! I mean, first Findley gets a yellow for no freaking reason! The ball nailed him square in the face and then hits his hand as it bounces... OFF HIS FACE! For that he gets a yellow card and misses the next match? Ridiculous. And then the ref takes away the 3rd goal which, by the way, was not offsides AND didn't call the THREE BLATANT fouls against USA while the 3rd goal was being shot? I have no words.**

**What I would really like to know, though, is what happened to the footballers that were supposed to show up to the World Cup in South Africa this summer. Because none of them made it. What happened to the phenom teams that qualified? These aren't the same teams.**

**Anyways! Thanks for reading! And listening to my World Cup ranting. Please, tell me what you think about _Cracked Concrete_, good or bad!**

**Love, Thalia**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.**

* * *

_"So much sadness exists in the world that we are all under obligation to contribute as much joy as lies within our powers." – John Sutherland Bonnell_

o o o o

6 November, 1999

The dry air was crisp and Derek could smell the impending frost that just waited to cover Chicago in the first ice of the season. He knew snow would follow closely behind, maybe even by tonight, and soon the city would look like the snow globe of the Chicago Theater his father had given him the last Christmas before he died. The freezing, dreary weather seemed strangely appropriate for today as he stood in silence on the lawn of the cemetery listening to Sammie's Uncle Colin eulogize his brother.

The cold wind cut through both his sport coat and his black overcoat, chilling him all the way through, and he had to make a conscious effort not to hunch her shoulders and shiver. He glanced sideways and saw James with an angry scowl on his face. If he ever smiled, the kid would have more girls than he would know what to do with. He'd smiled once since Derek had met him. The day he'd painted their garage floor he'd let the horde of cousins drag him into a pickup game where they'd teased and mocked him and his utter lack of, what they called, 'football skills.' James had smiled then, laughing as even Isabella, the youngest of the cousins, stole the ball from Derek over and over again.

"Tom was my best friend and I will spend my life wishing I had made more of an effort to reach out to him. He was a good man, a loving husband to Andria and devoted father to Samantha and James. He was loved by many and will be missed by all. Tom, I love you. Godspeed," Colin Murdoch folded his paper in half and tucked it back into his pocket. He laid a hand on the maple wood casket and closed his eyes.

Watching the blonde walk back to his wife, Derek wondered how well Colin knew his brother and the hell he'd put his family through. Even from the little James and Sammie had revealed, Derek could tell Tom Murdoch was nothing like what his brother eulogized him as. What he had to wonder, though, was whether or not Colin knew he was lying or if he actually believed what he said was true. No one would have suspected Carl Buford of being capable of pedophilia and abuse because the man was too charismatic and he knew how to use that to his advantage. Had Tom Murdoch known the same tricks?

Derek watched Sammie wrap her arm around her mother to help the sobbing woman stay upright. Every time he had met Andria, the woman had been crying hysterical and simply inconsolable. He couldn't imagine what the woman was going through. His mom had cried when his father died, but she had always tried to make sure he and his sisters didn't see her cry. The difference was his mother knew his father loved her more than anything. Andria… from what he understood, she lived in fear of Tom.

Sammie offered him a smile when she caught his eye and he smiled back. She looked sad, but, like James, determined not to cry or show weakness. He'd gotten that impression of her – that she didn't allow many to see the real girl hiding behind the strong veneer she used to protect herself.

A curly haired boy standing next to Sammie narrowed his eyes at Derek and he had to assume the boy was Nick. Nick muttered something to Sammie and she jerked her head down suddenly. He had a feeling he would be with Gia and think this boy was a _faccia di merda_. Whatever that meant.

Looking away, Derek watched the people there, trying to figure out who belonged with whom. The majority of the people had the olive skin and dark brown or black hair he associated with Sammie's family, but a couple dozen were fair skinned blondes like Sammie, like Tom. And then there were those like him, people who looked like neither family. Derek smiled to himself when he glanced across from him and took another look at what was probably the entire soccer team from James' high school.

"Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection into eternal life." A Campaniello that Derek recognized but couldn't name spoke, his head bowed and, following everyone else's lead, Derek bowed his head as well as Tom's casket was slowly lowered into the grave, the noise of the machine low and grumbly. "Our Heavenly Father, please accept the soul of your troubled son. Eternal rest grant until him, O Lord; and let perpetual light shine upon him. May he rest in peace. Amen."

Sammie and James carefully lead Andria closer to the grave as the brown casket settled at the bottom with a dull thud that resonated with finality. Andria held out her clenched hand and slowly relaxed her fingers until the clump of dirt contained in her fist fell to land on the wood. James dropped his second, his hesitation so brief Derek wasn't sure anyone but he had noticed it before the teenager turned away.

Sammie, though, hesitated painfully. She stood beside the grave with her arm outstretched over it, seemingly unable to unclench her fingers and release the dirt she held. Finally, after several agonizing and telling seconds, the earth left her hand to find her father and she hurried away from the spot back to her mother.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

Leaning against the wall at Ponsiglione's, Derek stood silently next to Claudio Tardelli, the oldest of the cousins at twenty-two years old, just a year younger than he was. Claudio looked like a photocopy of his grandfather George and he watched his youngest sister, Isabella, play with Gia and the younger of the two Paolos. Derek thought it a little funny that Sammie's Aunt Paola had born both the oldest and the youngest of the cousins. Well, until Caprice popped, that is. He watched as Caprice's husband Franco D'Agata dottingly helped the very pregnant woman into a chair besides the eldest of the entire family, the patriarch, wizened old Emilio Campaniello.

"You're insane to willingly become friends with this family," Claudio said laughingly as Marco got mad at something Viviana said and smeared pasta sauce on her face. "We're a whole mess of crazy."

"I dunno," Derek shrugged with a smile. "You're family's nice."

"Just a little warning – if you do, ya know, get with Sam, she's not a one-person package. She comes with the whole lot. You don't just get her, you get all her crazy relatives."

Why did everyone think he was after Sammie? The idea was preposterous and completely absurd.

"I don't want to date Sammie. I'm just her friend. We're just friends," Derek said firmly.

Claudio nodded in a way that plainly said, 'I don't believe you' and 'you're an idiot' at the same time. The dark featured man crossed his arms over his broad chest and resumed watching his baby sister play a game of jacks with Paolo and Gia. Mimicking Claudio, Derek watched, but not the three kids playing jacks. Derek's eyes found the short, choppy blonde hairstyle belonging to Sammie and his gaze softened slightly at the sight of her.

She stood talking to identical twin girls whose names eluded him. The twins were easily the most beautiful of the twenty-some cousins with clover green eyes and curly chestnut hair, but Derek spared them not a glance. He wanted to see Sammie smile.

"I'm gonna get something to eat," Claudio said absently, pushing himself off the wall and walking towards large table overflowing with various trays and bowls of food. The entire restaurant smelt amazing and Derek watched as Marsi and Allegra carried a few more pots of pasta from the kitchen.

A group of blondes Derek knew were Tom's family huddled in the corner, nervous and uncomfortable around the loud and more than slightly overwhelming nature of Tom's in-laws. They sat watching the group that acted as differently from them as they looked and Derek had to wonder how exactly Andria and Tom had gotten started.

Eventually, Derek realized he, like Claudio, was hungry and meandered over to the table. Looking over all the food, he spent a few seconds wondering what a few of the dishes were before beginning to dish some spoonfuls of things onto his plate.

"Try that one," Sammie's voice startled him when she spoke beside him. "It's good."

"What is it?"

"Canalini alla Norma," Sammie spooned some onto her own plate. "Canalini is a type of pasta. It has a tomato-eggplant sauce. And that one is zuccotto."

"The cake thing?"

"It's full of pastry cream. I think this one has hazelnut, but I'm not sure," Sammie nodded, smiling, before moving away towards the other end of the table.

"Are you sure you need to eat any more?" Nick's cruel words were hushed, but barely and very few people had not heard what he said. Derek's eyes narrowed as he watched Sammie shrink into herself. "You're already fat, you don't need any more food, much less zuccotto and gnocchi. Involtini di Melanzane? Really? Try a salad. I'm not taking a fat girl to my cousins' wedding."

Nick walked away and Sammie was left looked down, suddenly very interested in the marble floor, her eyes welling with unshed tears. Despite the furious expressions on their faces, everyone seemed to pretend not to notice what had transpired and Derek didn't understand why.

"No, Sammie," he whispered to himself as he watched her staring at her full plate with her arm wrapped self-consciously around her midsection. "Don't do it, Baby Girl. Don't."

But she did. She dropped the plate into the trash and fled as slowly as she could to the bathroom, tailed closely by the twins Derek couldn't name. He spotted James' furious, red-flushed face out of the corner of his eye. James' hands were clenched angrily by his sides and the teenager looked as though he was scant seconds away from exploding.

George was muttering something in Italian as he passed Derek and, though he couldn't understand what George said, Derek knew from his tone the words were far from good.

"_Faccia di merda_."

There was the phrase again, this time muttered by George and Derek wanted to know what it meant now, though he had a feeling he had a general idea. 'Jackass' was what he was thinking and he doubted he was far off.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

"Hey kid," Derek said as he walked out of Ponsiglione's to stand next to James. The boy had walked out of the restaurant and into the cold ages ago without his jacket and Derek had seen his shivering through the window. "Here."

"Thanks," James nodded and took his blue letter jacket, pulling it on. "I hate that asshole. I wanna kill him most of the time."

"I can see why," he agreed.

"Why'd he have to go and do that today of all days? Seriously? Like today's just been so fucking great. Sam hasn't eaten all day and now she's not going to eat 'cause of that jerk. He doesn't deserve her."

"What does _faccia di merda_ mean?"

"Bastard, son of a bitch, that sort of thing. Why?"

"Just wondering."

James felt silent stared at the setting sun. The sky seemed cruelly beautiful for such a dismal day with it's bright yellow and pink illuminated clouds. "I was wondering if… Nevermind."

"What?" Derek turned to look at him.

"I need some help with football. American football. None of my cousins can help, they all play regular football, er, soccer, sorry. American football's not really big in our family. I was wondering if you'd mind helping me."

"Naw. It'd be cool. I have two sisters, so I never really got to do that."

"Thanks."

"No problem," Derek nodded and the two returned to silence.

"If… if you want to, ya know, steal Sam from Nick, I could help you. She and Dad used to go see the Blackhawks every year. Sam loves the Blackhawks."

"James, I'm not trying to date your sister," he sighed, really wishing people would give up this line of thought.

"Oh. Okay." James looked a little disappointed and Derek had to wonder what had changed so much since the first time he'd met the boy and had been warned away from Sammie. He didn't mind the boy's change of heart, was glad for it actually, because he liked James and knew he understood what was going on in the teenager's head far better than he wanted to.

Carl Buford had virtually destroyed his life, his self-worth and made him feel so completely dirty, physically and mentally violated. Derek hated the man for it, but, now, part of him was the slightest bit grateful for the pain Carl Buford had caused him because it made it so he could help James with his own pain.

"How are you doing? With all this, I mean."

"Okay, I guess. He's gone, so it's not like… I dunno. He can't hurt us anymore," James still didn't look at Derek, rather took care_ not_ to look at him. "It's kind of a relief, ya know? If they just got divorced or something, he could still… But he can't. He's gone and he's not coming back."

"It doesn't really make it hurt less, though, does it?"

"In some ways it does, but in other ways it doesn't." James agreed slowly. "Sam had it worse than I did. I mean, it was bad for both of us, but she always tried to protect me. She'd take the blame for things I'd broken or something. I couldn't protect her. I wasn't big enough until recently and, even then, she wouldn't let me. She'd just stand there and take it, but sometimes that just made Dad even madder. I don't tell her as much as I should, but I love her. She's my best friend. She's like my mum. She always took care of me when Mum was too, well… yeah."

Finally James couldn't stop the tears from spilling and he started crying. Derek didn't say anything, but waited quietly for a while before slowly rubbing the boys back in a soothing fashion.

"You're lucky to have her," Derek said when James' tears subsided and James nodded jerkily in agreement. "She's a good sister."

"I don't deserve her," he wiped his nose. "I treat her like crap sometimes."

"That's what brothers and sisters do. If I had to deserve my sisters, well, I wouldn't have them."

"I miss Dad," James admitted quietly.

"You're wondering why he didn't love you, what you'd done wrong. If there was something you could have done to make him happy." James looked up with a startled expression, obviously wondering how Derek could know that. "You didn't do anything wrong, James. There was nothing you could have done."

"You said that before. How do you know? I mean…"

"I had someone a lot like him. After my dad died, I got into some trouble and a man pulled me out of it, put me back on track. But the 'guidance' cost more than it was worth. I wasn't kidding when I said I was you."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

Sinking into the couch he'd gotten at resale shop, Derek leaned his head back and sighed while his PlayStation booted up. Today left him completely exhausted, physically and mentally. Not even the worst days at work had left him quite this worn out. Well, one day at work rivaled this, but that was the day he'd been called to his first fatal car accident. A teenager hadn't been wearing his seatbelt when his friend crashed the car and he flew through the windshield. It had been four and a half months since then, but the mangled body of the boy lying on the cement road still gave him nightmares.

As the Gran Turismo starting screen appeared, he hit the X button on his controller and let it load the game he'd saved. Derek shifted to his side and stretched out along the sofa, wincing as tired muscles finally relaxed. He hadn't realized how physically tense he'd been all day long. Moved the joystick with his thumb, he picked a different car and clicked his way through the options until the game started.

Gran Turismo Two came out next month and Derek knew he'd purchase the game when it did. He crashed the car repeatedly, playing a terrible game, as he couldn't seem to get Sammie and James from his mind. What had James meant by 'when Mum was too, well… yeah.'? What did that mean? And why hadn't anyone stepped in and stopped Nick from treating Sammie that way? Why was Sammie with him in the first place?

The more Derek got to know the family, the more he liked them and the more they confused him.

"So, Sammie likes the Blackhawks," Derek didn't realize he was talking aloud to himself.

"Stop it," he told himself firmly, shoving the thought from his mind. "What the hell are you doing?"

o o o o

_"Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It's not." – Dr. Seuss_

* * *

**A/N:**

**Oh my Gaaawd. Did anyone else see the_ Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows _trailer? I'm so ridiculously excited. The only thing that could possibly have made it better would have been a shot of Neville, because Neville is the shit. I love love LOVE Neville Longbottom. He's my favorite Harry Potter character in the entire series. Numero Uno. I love him. I was totally fangirl-ing over the trailer. I nearly knocked over Fran, my MacBook, in my ecstatic fangirl-ing. So I got out my copy of _Philosopher's Stone_ and started re-reading it. J.K. Rowling is a goddess. I worship her and can only hope that one day my books are as beloved as hers.**

**Hurricane Alex is nearly here. I can smell it. It was pouring, thundering and lightening, yesterday and I'm soooo excited. There's nothing quite like the sky right before a hurricane lands. It's terrifyingly beautiful. I remember before Katrina - the sky was this odd mixture of orange, yellow and red. It's hard to describe unless you've seen it, but it's absolutely beautiful. It's odd how the most destructive things can be the most beautiful.**

**Anyways, thank you for reading and I hope you like _Cracked Concrete_ and stick around for more! Please, tell me what you think, good or bad!**

**Love, Thalia**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.**

* * *

"_People will forget what you said. People will forget what you did. But people will never forget how you made them feel." – Maya Angelou_

o o o o

22 November, 1999

Derek slipped his key into the lock and opened the door to his mother's house, letting himself in. Shaking off some snow before he stepped inside, he called out to his mom that he was here.

"In the kitchen. Did you bring the sweet potatoes?"

"And the green beans." Derek kicked off his shoes without untying the laces and shrugged off his coat before following the voices into the kitchen. "And the vanilla extract. And the peanut oil. And the Brussels sprouts. And the gravy mix. And the butter. And the wine. And the corn. Is there anything you didn't forget, Mama? It almost didn't fit in my bike."

"Is it snowing again?" Sarah asked when her younger brother came into view with snow still clinging to his hair and the bottom of his jeans.

"Yeah, started up about an hour ago. You'd hear it if you turned down the music. It's howling outside. It took forty minutes to get from the park to James' house to drop him off. I could barely see past the front wheel. It was even worse when I got out of the supermarket," Derek dropped the plastic bags on the counter and then, more carefully, placed a double-bagged paper sack next to it.

"I don't know if riding that motorcycle around is safe in the snow," Fran frowned as she stirred the pot of boiling potato chunks so they wouldn't stick together or to the bottom of the pot.

"What's in that?" Desiree pointed with the paring knife.

"Sammie sent food."

"Again?" Fran turned around with her eyebrow raised and the sisters flashed each other a grin.

"Okay, seriously. I love all three of you crazy women, but I'd appreciate it if you'd stop. It's her way of saying 'thank you.' And she wouldn't let me leave until I took it." Reaching into the bag, Derek pulled out a bundle wrapped in tin foil and then few aluminum tins.

"How did you get that home? There's no way that fit in your bike."

"Backpack. It's wet, so I left it with the shoes."

"Well, I can't say I'm not glad we don't have to cook dinner," Fran sighed, turning back to her pot.

Derek ignored his mom's comment and grabbed four sets of dishes from the cabinet. The women found a stopping point in their Thanksgiving preparation while Derek served dinner. He dished a huge breaded eggplant and mozzarella mountain onto each plate and then angel hair pasta and marinara sauce. Everything smelt so good. Especially the garlic bread. He could easily gain ten pounds just on garlic bread.

"Oh my gawd, this is so good," Desiree mumbled around a mouthful of food. "I am so ordering this the next time we go to Ponsiglione's. Have they opened up again?"

"Yeah," Derek answered as soon as he swallowed. "They reopened the day after the funeral."

"That's good. I missed their tiramisu," Sarah anchored her fork on her spoon and twirled some pasta around the prongs. "I had some at the Maria's Bakery a week ago and it was so disappointing. Ponsiglione's spoiled me. Pass the bread."

"How's James doing?" Desiree reached across the table for the bowl of shredded Parmesan. Ignoring the serving spoon, she reached into the bowl and took a generous handful and sprinkled it over her pasta.

"He seems to be doing alright. As well as can be expected, anyway. We played football this afternoon. That kid's got some serious legs on him. I taught him one of Connor's old tricks for kick off and he got this perfect arch that just sailed. It was gorgeous. Sixty yards easy the first time he kicked it. It was hard to tell with the snow. It didn't fly perfectly straight, but he'll get the aim down with some practice."

"And Sammie?" Desiree grinned.

"I'm not sure. I haven't talked to her in a while. She's been at school. She just got home for Thanksgiving," Derek lied. He'd been talking to her plenty, but Sammie wasn't doing alright and he was sure she would rather bury herself alive than have people think she was struggling.

The way Fran looked at him for a moment before returning to her pasta left him with the distinct impression she knew he was lying.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

The blizzard covering Chicago in a blanket of snow stranded Derek at his mom's house for the night and walking into his old bedroom felt like walking back in time. His old posters still hung on the walls covering the wallpaper he'd never liked. The quilt his grandma made for him still covered the bed and the bookshelves were still shoved full of old comic books and books he'd had to read for school.

Closing he door behind him, Derek walked into the room and over the bookshelf. Fishing out _Frankenstein_ from the mess, he settled onto the twin bed that now felt so small and opened the book not to the beginning, but to his favourite part. A while later, his phone started to ring. Putting the book down, he picked it up and flipped it open, smiling when he saw Sammie's number displayed across the screen.

"Hey there, Baby Doll."

_ "Hey, Derek. Thanks for hanging out with James today. He loved it. He won't shut up about it," Sammie turned the volume on her boombox down, picked up Crookshanks and sat down in the plaid chair in the corner of her room._

"I had fun. The kid has talent. What are you listening to over there?"

_ "The new Backstreet Boys CD."_

"I think Sarah has that one. Blue cover, white writing, yeah? With a handful of guys all dressed in white?"

_ "That's the one. Kinda cheesy, I guess, the whole boy band thing, but I'm a girl and I like it," her hand ran over Crookhanks, the tip of her finger rubbing repeatedly between the kittens eyes. Crookshanks hated being scratched – something James had learned the first day Gramps showed up with the feline. He'd scratched Crookshanks' neck the way he scratched Aunt Paola's dog and walked away with his arm looking like a bleeding scratching post._

_The kitten liked being rubbed, but only in the direction his hair grew. His favourite thing in the world was to be brushed. Sammie had a wire cat brush and Crookshanks came running as soon as Sammie brought it out. If Crookshanks had his way, Sammie would spend hours at a time brushing her fur._

"How are you doing? You didn't seem too good when I dropped James off," Derek settled himself more comfortably, tugging the blanket over his lap.

"_I'm alright," Sammie lied. "Just tired and stressed. Practicing for my juries. They start next week."_

"What's a jury again?"

"_The final performance. I have to play for a jury of staff. Each jury is worth half my grade in its' class. They're a music major's finals. Clarinet's on Tuesday. Aural is on Thursday, piano Friday. The next Monday is flute, which I still haven't gotten the hang of yet. I should have tried the sax instead of the flute."_

"What do you have to do for them?"

"_Perform the pieces, know about the composer, the background of the piece. Scales, sightreading. They might ask me to perform portions of the pieces a second or third time. It's stressful. There's a portion in Hindemith's Sonata in B – my clarinet piece – that I still can't get quite right. It's been… difficult to practice lately."_

"And I thought being a criminal justice major was hard. I'm glad I only had to take exams."

"_Ugh. Thanks for reminding about my English exam."_

"You still have time to go to the game on Saturday?" Derek asked.

"_Heck yes! I'm not skipping a Blackhawks game! I have season tickets and I'm gonna use 'em! They're playing the Sharks. So excited. My first game of the season. I just hope Thibault doesn't screw it up."_

"You don't like Thibault?"

"_I dunno… He's pretty inconsistent. And his stupid butterfly style is so wishy-washy, ya know? He falls before he tries to find the puck. How're you supposed to catch the puck if you drop before you know where it's going? A hybrid of butterfly and scramble is such a better technique. Like Richter or Brodeur. More consistency if they maintain their patience. Sometimes they get ahead of themselves… I love Brodeur… If only he wasn't a devil. Literally."_

Derek started laughing at Sammie terrible joke – Martin Brodeur was the netminder for the New Jersey Devils.

"_Ugh, except for last year. Brodeur had a terrible, terrible season last year. At least once they hit the playoffs. Losing to the Penguins? Seriously? It was like some alien came and invaded his body right after the last in-season game."_

"I know. I couldn't believe how many goals he let in in that series."

"_Twenty! Twenty goals! In one series! It was ridiculous!" Crookshanks hissed angrily and jumped off Sammie's lap. The cat stalked away with his tail in the air and Sammie shrugged, replacing her with the doll that sat on the side table leaning against a lamp._

ooo ooo ooo ooo

27 November, 1999

"What the hell was that?" Sammie yelled as Leroux's slap shot flew far wide and crashed into the wall just inches below the Plexiglas. "Oh come on! That was totally icing! What were you looking at? This isn't ballet, lineman! Make the danged call!"

"C'mon Leroux! Get it together!" Derek hollered from this seat besides Sammie, just as worked up as she was. The game was the worst he'd ever seen in person. On television, there'd been worse, but he'd never sat in the stadium watching it live. The United Center was aroar with disgust and every time a shot went wide or was blocked or – more horrifically – _wasn't_ blocked, the din simply amplified. Not quite nine minutes into the second period, they were already down four-to-one.

"About damn time! Make something of it!" Sammie was scowling as a white clad player skated off the ice towards the penalty box and the Blackhawks were handed a two-minute power play. "Damned Sharks are kicking our ass. Come on! Such an embarrassment!"

"I'm gonna go get some food," Derek said, shifting to get up. "Do you want anything, Baby Girl?"

"Yeah. Some na…" she started, but didn't finished her sentence, and Derek saw her hand jerk reflexively to her sides. "Ya know, I'm not that hungry. Just a Sprite or something."

"C'mon, Sammie. You've got to be hungry. We've been here for ages watching them suck. That alone would make anyone hungry," Derek pursed his lips and felt the need to force something down her throat. "You were going to say 'nachos,' weren't you? Sprite and nachos. I'll be back."

"Derek –" she started to protest, but Derek cut her off.

"Sprite and nachos," he reiterated before 'excuse me'-ing down the row to the isle and going up the concrete steps to the tunnel the lead him to the concessions. He'd never sat so close to the ice before – they were in the twelfth row right behind the Blackhawks bench, tickets that Tom Murdoch had held since the United Center opened five years ago. Before walking into the tunnel, he glanced to where Sammie sat, her blonde head in her hands and a red-clad Hawk skated off the ice to the penalty box a minute into the power play.

He carefully juggled two sodas and two plastic clamshells of fully loaded nachos back down the row and waited while Sammie took hers before sitting down next to her. "Sprite and nachos for the beautiful princess."

"Thanks, Derek," She smiled at him and took a sip of her soda, leaving the nachos still covered in her lap. "They haven't gotten any better since you've been gone. Power play completely gone to waste."

"Hopefully it's a fluke and the season goes okay. You should eat your food, Sam. Concession stand anything is nasty cold."

"I… I'll eat them in a bit," she stalled, fiddling with the edges of the shell. Derek didn't say anything, but went back to watching one of the white jerseys violently slam a red jersey into the wall hard enough to rattle the Plexiglas but not quite hard enough to push him through it.

"Promise?" Derek pressed, shoveling a few of his own nachos into his mouth. Sammie nodded absently and groaned as the puck got past Thibault again and the buzzer sounded, loud and angry.

The second intermission began with the score five-to-one in favour of the Sharks and a dejected Blackhawks team made their way into the locker room. Sammie and Derek discussed the previous period while the Zamboni cleaned the ice. Derek didn't miss the way she moved her nachos around in their container, but never actually lifted one to her mouth. He practically heard her stomach growl as the teams skated back onto the ice for the third period.

"Eat, Baby Girl."

"I shouldn't."

"Why not?" Sammie mumbled something about the wedding and a dress and Derek clenched his teeth. No, Sammie wasn't a stick. She had hips and curves and breasts. She had this beautiful full figure that looked so soft and comfortable and inviting. "You're gorgeous, Sam. Absolutely beautiful. You don't need to worry about your weight."

"I don't want to embarrass Nick."

The puck dropped and the Hawks surprised everyone by snatching it away from the Sharks and pushing through with a valiant but ill-fated forward assault.

"Sammie-Girl…" Derek stared at her for a little longer before turning his attention to the ice where the Sharks had scored yet another goal. The blond beside him didn't react other than to sigh and it seemed she'd given up on the Hawks for tonight. "Sam, eat."

Halfway through the final period, Sammie gave in and started inhaling the nachos. Derek smiled when he saw her polish off the last nacho and pop the jalapeno in her mouth. The final score leveled out at seven-to-one – a disgrace by any standards – and Sammie grumbled and groused the entire way back to the car. Riding his bike simply hadn't made sense, so they'd driven in Sammie's little green Volkswagen Beetle, the keys to which she tossed him saying she didn't feel like driving.

Derek opened the door for her, at which she looked surprised, and then walked around the front of the car. Slowly, they made their way through the gridlocked parking lot, the snow tires on the little Bug crunching over the slosh that had been run over so many times it no longer resembled snow.

"Thanks for coming with me."

"Thanks for asking me to," Derek flipped on the turn signal and slowly turned out of the parking lot. "Seatbelt, Sammie."

"Oh. Right. I always forget that. Thanks," she quickly buckled her seatbelt and settled back down. Sammie itched her arm under her red Blackhawks jersey and started laughing. "God, that was such a lousy game! It was just terrible."

"So bad," Derek laughed as well. "We were flattened."

"I'm so glad Dad wasn't there. Oh man… the thing's he'd be screaming. My ears would have been ringing for a week," Sammie's smile slowly disappeared and she looked out the window at the snow flurries being blown around by the wind. Derek reached over and took her hand, squeezing. "I miss him."

"I know, Baby Girl."

o o o o

"_For small creatures such as we, the vastness is bearable only through love." – Carl Sagan_

_

* * *

_

**A/N:**

**Oh man, I'm so sorry for neglecting this baby like crazy. In my defense, life has been absofreakinglutely insane. I just dropped Mum off at physical therapy, came back, wrote the last couple lines and now I'm posting it. Now I have to go to Sam's Club, WalMart and Budget Books all before I go back to pick her up. And then Little Brother's first football game of the season is tonight. Well, technically, it's a scrimmage, but whateve. I've got all my maroon ready, Mum's even got her jersey with his number on it. I just wish it were REAL football. I'm not a big fan of the American Football, but I deal with it for Little Brother. Can't wait till soccer season so I can freeze my ass off in the bleachers and scream at the guys on the pitch. YAY! I'm getting excited just talking about it. But I have to get through football season first. In the immortal words of my Grampa, "BAH HUMBUG!"**

**Also - the game Sammie and Derek are watching was a real game played back in 1999, except it was in early, early October rather than late November. And I mean no disrespect to Thibault in dissing his style. My own personal favourite netminder plays a butterfly style as well and I love the man. Luuuu!**

**I hope you liked it and, please, tell me what you think - good or bad!**

**Love, Thalia**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.**

* * *

"_To the soul, there is hardly anything more healing than friendship." – Thomas Moore_

o o o o

9 December, 1999

Derek whooped and hollered as James jogged onto the field, his two different coloured cleats visible even from high in the stands. His left cleat was bright neon yellow with a lime green Nike swoosh on the sides and matching green laces and his right was a deep red with white Adidas strips down the sides. Derek watched while James jumped on his toes a few times and shook himself. He lined his right foot up with the tee and took three steps back and two sweeping steps sideways. The ref blew the whistle and the ball was snapped back to number forty-three and James ran forward, planting his left foot and connecting the laces of his red cleat with the bottom third of the ball.

The entire stadium held its' breath as James' momentum carried him two hops forward and the football sailed through the air. Sammie's nails dug into Derek's hand and, at the last second, she ducked her head into her free hand until the stadium erupted in cheers and she jerked to her feet and started screaming. The scoreboard changed, it's lights flickering spastically until it read **BULLDOGS: 38, VISITORS: 37**.

"The kick is good! Number fourteen – Sophomore James Murdoch with the extra point!"

A few players tackled James on the field and Sammie jumped up and down, bumping into Derek on one side and Benito Collina, a cousin the same age as James, on the other. Every member of the Campaniello family present wore a blue jersey with the number fourteen and the name MURDOCH printed across the back. And almost every Campaniello sat in the bleachers to see the final game. Only those who were stuck working at Ponsiglione's were absent. Even Derek had donned a jersey; one he suspected had belonged to but was never worn by Tom Murdoch.

James looked up at the stands, undoubtedly finding his family, before jogging back to switch places with the kicker who would perform the kick-off. The game continued less eventfully than it had been as the minutes ticked down in the third quarter and Sammie excused herself to go get a water. When she didn't return, Derek turned to Claudio on his left.

"What? Oh, she's probably over hanging out with the band," Claudio pointed towards the other end of the stands where rows of students wearing blue and white polyester marching uniforms stood holding various instruments. "She usually goes to see them for a while."

When she didn't reappear, Derek left the stands during a time out called by Elmwood Park and wandered over to the band. He leaned against the wall by the concession stand and watched her. This was the first time he'd seen her look this happy. When she smiled, it never quite reached her eyes, now, though, her entire face lit up and happiness radiated from her. She was standing in the middle of the bleachers laughing, jumping up and down and hugging a redhead holding a silver piccolo. He never understood why girls did that. Why did they jump when they hugged each other?

The gray haired man standing on the podium called something and Sammie's head moved towards him. She nodded excitedly and hurried down the bleachers towards the wall. A kid with a trumpet gave her a boost up onto the wall and the gray haired man and student already on the podium helped her over. Sammie hugged both people and looked at the piece of paper the man handed her. Nodding again, Sammie turned towards the band; the man and the student moved back.

"Band! A'ten hut!" Sammie clapped eight times, speaking on the fifth, seventh and eighth clap.

"Hut!"

"Horns up!"

Derek watched as she conducted the band through a stand tune he recognized from his own football days. It was _Para Los Rumberos_ by Santana. They were close to the end when number eight ran across the goal line into the end zone and Sammie cut them off, immediately launching them into the fight song. James' field goal was good and the drumline started the celebratory cadence they only added if the extra point counted.

Sammie hugged the uniform-clad kid and switched places with him. Leaning against the railing of the podium, she looked towards the band director and started talking to him. Her hair had grown out slightly, it reached just past her shoulders now, and, as the wind kicked up, it caught her hair and started whipping it around her head. Laughing, she reached up and pulled her hair down, holding it on one side with her hand.

Derek was about to head back to where everyone was sitting when the stadium lights caught Sammie in a different way and he stopped and stared. His eyes narrowed and he settled back against the wall to wait for her. He waited until the clock had three minutes left in the fourth quarter and the score was forty-five to forty-four, Bulldogs over Tigers, before Sammie climbed back up the bleachers to the concrete landing between the lower and upper stands.

"Hey!" Sammie smiled brightly.

"I hope you realize, it's gonna take a helluva lot more than makeup to keep me from noticing those," Derek told her pointedly. Sammie dropped her hair and frowned, crossing her arms across her chest.

"It's nothing," she told him. "I was just –"

"Hit with a soccer ball? Stood up too suddenly and smacked the back of your neck on the truck of your car? Trying to get the cat out from under the bed? Knocked something off the top shelf? Which one is it this time, Sam?" He mirrored her action of crossing his arms over his chest and waited.

"Pick one," Sammie started walking back towards her family. "It doesn't seem to make a difference to you. You don't listen to them anyways."

"Sam, stop," Derek grabbed her elbow. "Look at me, Baby Girl. You have to get out of this. I can help you. Please, let me help you."

"Derek, nothing's wrong!" she hissed, "Just let it go."

"Sammie, Baby, you have a hand print bruised on the back of your neck. I can see his fingers."

"Nick loves me."

"That's not love, Angel. That's abuse. _This_ is abuse," Derek shook his head. Sammie yanked her arm out of his grip and hurried away, Derek close on her heels. "Sammie!"

"Claudio! Take me home."

"But the game's not over yet," Claudio protested in confusion. Sammie switched from English to Italian and after a few seconds Claudio nodded and stood up, sidestepping out of the bleachers and into the isle. Derek hated it when they did that. Normally slipping into Italian was unintentional, but sometimes, like now, he had a feeling they switched on purpose. Sammie was halfway to the exit, but Claudio paused next to Derek and spoke in a low undertone, "Leave it alone."

"Leave it alone? Leave it alone? He's hurting her!"

We can't prove it. And she denies that it every time someone says something. What do you propose we do?"

"Pictures. Go to the police. Something. Anything!"

"We have pictures," Claudio's dark eyes darkened angrily. "The problem is figuring out which bastard caused what. Uncle Tom or Nick. And we have gone to the police. They can't and won't do anything if Sam says nothing happened."

"Claudio! _Sbrigati_!"

"I'm coming, Sam. Keep your pants on."

Derek crossed his arms and watched Claudio hurry after his cousin and the two leave the stadium as the clock ran down to zero and the final score glowed at forty-five to forty-four with the Bulldogs winning their last game of the season and walking away as the JV District Champs. The boys in football uniforms lined up along the edge of the field after shaking the other teams hands and waited as the grey haired band director gave the band the cue and they began the alma mater.

An hour later found him waited outside the high school. Derek watched as James came out of the field house with a few other guys. As soon as James spotting Derek and his bike, he waved goodbye to his friends and jogged over. The teen took the helmet Derek offered, slung his football bag over his chest like a messenger bag and tightened the strap so it wouldn't bounce around.

"You played a helluva game, James."

"That last kick only made it through cause of that trick you taught me. It would have gone wide without it," James shoved the helmet on and slung a leg over the bike behind Derek.

"Hold on tight, kid," Derek put on his own helmet on and revved the bike.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

Derek grunted an explicative worthy of a triple-x rating each time his green-gloved fists made contact with the black punching bag. He hadn't worked himself this hard in a long time, but, at the same time, he couldn't stop. The moment he stopped, his head would be filled with the various ways he could kill Nick Farese.

He'd seen women come into the police battered and bruised at the hands of men who were supposed to love and take care of them, but this was the first time he'd seen it on such a personal level. And she was just pretending nothing was happening. She was covering up for the bastard. Letting him hurt her and pretending he wasn't.

And, yet, he understood. He'd done the same thing. He'd let Carl Buford abuse and rape him over and over again and had never told anyone. He'd alluded to James that he'd been hurt, but he'd never told him the extent of what happened. He'd done just what Sammie was doing. He pretended it never happened. He explained away marks with feeble, generic excuses. Made things up about where he'd been.

A hammer fist punch followed a left hook and then came a backfist. Sweat poured down his face as he threw a cross at the punching bag and then kicked hard. Hard enough that he lost his balance and toppled backwards, landing on the carpeted floor with a thud.

Derek couldn't get up. He lay on the carpet and shoved off his boxing gloves and knocked them away. Tucking his head down, clutching the back of his head with his hands and squeezed his eyes shut.

_ "It's okay, Derek," Carl Buford whispered in his ear as he put what might have been a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Derek shut his eyes while the older man kissed his neck and ran his hands down Derek's back._

"No." Derek shook his head against the memory. "No, no, no. No!"

_Carl's fingers slipped inside the waistband of Derek's jeans and ran over the edge of the elastic on his boxers._

"No. It's over. That's over," Derek tugged on his hair.

_"Just hold still, Derek," Carl pushed down Derek's pants and then Derek himself back onto the bed in his cabin._

Derek curled himself tighter and finally let the tears fall, for himself, for James, and for Sammie.

o o o o

_"Suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope." – Romans 5:3-4_

* * *

**A/N:**

**Whooooo! I'm finally back up at school and I'm really glad to be back. I'm excited for my classes this semester. I'm taking 19 hours, so it's gonna be a loooong, hectic semester. But I can't wait. I'm taking 2 history classes, a human devo, special education, parenting (have to for my major), logic, and pilates.**

**I didn't get to go see Little Brother's first varsity football game because I was up at school, but they won 47-24! Whoop!**

**The house goes on the market in T-3 weeks. They're still working back home to get it ready but we spent all summer working too. I never knew we owned so much crap or that I had so many books. Most of my books are in storage. I miss my books so, so much. I want them with me. I love my books. Anyways, I'm still working on getting my apartment up and running. I still haven't finished unpacking. And I can't find my trashbags anywhere. And my hairdryer broke. Which I found out an hour before my first class yesterday. It was lovely. I am also out of Diet Dr. Pepper, which is simply unacceptable and the reason I'm going to the market as soon as this is posted. I need my caffeine. Desperately.**

**Andyways! I hope you liked this chapter, emotional, as always. Please, tell me what you think, good or bad.**

**Love, Thalia**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.**

* * *

"_Anger is only a natural reaction; one of the mind's ways of reacting to things that it perceives to be wrong. While anger can sometimes lead people to do shocking things, it can also be an instinct to show people that something isn't right." – Author Unknown_

o o o o

28 December, 1999

Derek slid reluctantly out of his warm bed, cursing whoever was at the door for waking him up. He'd only gotten home from work an hour ago and, just as he finally fell asleep, someone was pounding on the door. Dressed in only his boxer-briefs, he made his way down the hall and through the kitchen by memory. As his hand reached for the doorknob, lightning cracked loudly outside, illuminating the entire living room through the overly-large window.

Shaking his head and wondering who would be foolish enough to be outside in this weather, he grasped the doorknob, but his hand didn't turn. What if it was a murderer? Maybe he should get his gun. Shaking his head again to clear his ridiculous, inane thoughts, Derek turned the handle and was shocked to find Sammie standing there, soaked to the bone, in front of him, shivering as the rain pelted her.

"Sammie? What the hell are you doing here? It two a.m. for God's sake!" Derek ushered her out of the rain and into the apartment.

"I'm sorry, I should have called," Sammie stammered quietly. Lines of worry formed on Derek's forehead. Something was wrong and he didn't know what. But her didn't like it. She hadn't spoken to him since the night of James' football game when he'd confronted her about the bruises Nick left and, out of nowhere, she appeared at his front door. Something was wrong, he just didn't know what. Realizing Sammie was still standing on the doorstep and wasn't entering the apartment, he grabbed the closest part of her body, her elbow, and pulled her inside.

"Sam? What's wrong, Baby Girl?" Derek asked, looking down at her, peeling her thin jacket off her. "And why are you wearing this when it's pouring outside?" Sammie looked up at him and Derek saw the sadness in her eyes. "Hey, Princess… what happened?"

Her eyes were red and puffy with tearstains running down her puffy cheeks. She attempted to speak, but in the end she just threw her arms around his neck and started sobbing anew.

"It's okay, Sammie, it's okay," Derek soothed, hugging her tight. "I've got you, Princess. Everything's alright now." Carefully, he led her over to the couch and let her cuddle as close as she wanted. He didn't loosen his hold on her, just held her tight and whispered reassurances in her ear. His choice of action seemed to be the right choice because she slowly calmed down and clung a little less desperately and cried a little less forcefully before quieting.

Derek kissed her hair and rocked her back and forth gently. He waited until she'd been quiet for a good long while before venturing forward to ask what had happened. At first, it seemed Sammie didn't hear his question, because she didn't move or say anything. He was about to ask again when she tilted her head up at him and he saw the angry red bruises forming on the left side of her face he hadn't seen in the dark entry to his apartment.

"Oh fucking hell," Derek whispered without thinking about it. Turning the floor lamp on, he carefully held her hair back to get a better look. The skin around her eye puffed out, as did the left side of her bottom lip. A laceration sliced across the bridge of her nose to the skin under the eye. The middle portions of the bruising had already begun turning from red to a violent purplish colour. At this rate, she'd be black and blue by tomorrow.

"What happened? Did Nick do this?" When Sammie's brown eyes watered again, Derek knew the answer and he cursed bitterly. "Baby Girl, we have to call the police. We can't let him get away with this."

"No!" Sammie's eyes widened in fear. "Please, Derek, you can't. You can't call the police."

"Sammie, you can't explain this one away with excuses. Please, Angel," Derek pleaded with her. When she didn't say anything, he picked her up and carried her into the bathroom. "Look what he did to you, Sam."

Her hand went up to her cheek and Derek set her down on the ground. Once her ratty green Converse had made contact with her linoleum, she turned around and buried her face in his chest, sobbing again. Derek ran his hand up and down her back, kissing the top of her head and her temple, whispering words of comfort in her ear. "It's gonna be okay, Sammie. I promise you, he will never, _ever_ hurt you again."

"Why didn't he love me?" She whispered pitifully. "Why wasn't I good enough for him?"

"Because he's a complete moron and a bastard and he doesn't deserve you," Derek squeezed her and drew back when she winced severely. He drew back and studied her for a second. "What aren't you telling me, Baby Girl? What happened?"

"I… I went over to his apartment to see him. There was a-another girl there. He-he was cheating on me. I confronted him and he hit me. He laughed at me, said I was an idiot."

"You're not an idiot," he handed her a wad of toilet paper for a tissue.

"The other girl left and he… he… I…" Sammie blew her nose loudly.

"What did he do?" Sammie whispered something inaudibly and Derek strained to hear what she said. She repeated slightly louder and he tensed with fury. "I'm taking you to the hospital and calling the police."

"Derek –"

"That wasn't a option, Samantha," Derek told her firmly, leading her into the bedroom and sitting her down on her bed. Grabbing his phone from the bedside table, he flipped it open. "Mark, it's Derek. I've got an assault and battery victim at my apartment. Yes. No, I'm taking her to the hospital. Saint Anthony. Samantha Murdoch, nineteen. What? Nick Farese, twenty. Okay. We'll meet you there."

"Derek –"

"You, sit. I'm getting dressed."

"I was so scared coming here," she admitted while Derek tugged on a pair of jeans.

"Sammie, never be scared to come here."

"Not of you. I was afraid he'd wake up and follow me."

"Wake up?" Derek stopped pulling his shirt on to stare at her.

"I kind of hit him with a chair when he was coming back from the bathroom?"

"That's my girl," he grinned, tugging his shirt down and shoving his wallet into his pocket. He led her out of the bedroom and back towards the living room and the front door. "Here, wear this. I don't want you to freeze. We'll take your car."

"Sam! I know you're in there!" Sammie jumped back and looked at Derek in complete terror when the door was pounded on so forcefully that it rattled the doorframe.

"Go, Baby Girl. I'll take care of it," Derek nodded, turning her in the direction of the bedrooms.

"I know you're here, _zoccola_!"

As soon as Sammie had disappeared, Derek flipped his phone open again and grabbed his gun from the side table it lived on when it wasn't on his belt. "Mark, Farese is at my apartment. Bring a tape recorder. He's bilingual. Italian. Yeah. Oh, don't worry about that. He'll be here when you are."

"Sammie! Fuck you, _fica_! I know you're in there with that _frocio_ you're fucking!" After that, Nick forwent English altogether and started screaming in Italian, kicking and hitting the door. Steadying his gun and taking a deep breath, Derek flipped both the locks quickly and yanked the door open.

"Get your hands on your head! Hands on your head!" He ordered.

"Her car's in the parking lot! I know the bitch is here," the drunk kid tried to push past Derek, which was, in fact, a ridiculously stupid thing to do because it landed him prone on the concrete floor outside the apartment with his face smashed against the brick wall within seconds.

"You're under arrest for the rape and battery of Samantha Murdoch, disturbing the peace, and underage inebriation."

"You can't arrest me," Nick protested as Derek cuffed his hands together behind his back and around one of the metal bars that enclosed the landing.

"Wanna bet? You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney and to have one present during any questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided. Do you understand your rights?"

Nick continued yelling and cursing in Italian as Derek leaned against the wall and watched the road for Mark's police car. He had no real interest in whatever the bastard was saying; he just wanted Mark to hurry up so he could go find Sammie. Five minutes felt like five hours before Mark showed up in his squad card with the lights flashing and the sirens blaring.

"Carlos is on his way to the hospital. He'll met you there," Mark nodded to Derek and Derek uncuffed Nick and handed him over to Mark who re-cuffed him with his own handcuffs. The officer forced the kid down the steps none too gently as he repeated the Miranda Rights Derek had already recited.

"Sam? Sammie?" Derek closed the door behind him and went through the apartment trying to find her. "Sammie? Where are you?" He checked the closet in his bedroom, under the bed, the closet in the second bedroom. Walking into the bathroom, he moved aside the shower curtain and paused, trying to think of where else she could be when he heard sniffling. Getting down on his hands and knees, he opened the cabinet under the sink. "How the hell did you get in there, Baby Girl?"

"Is he gone?"

"He's gone, Princess. You can come out now. C'mon. Let's get you to the hospital. Can you get out of there or do I need to get a saw?"

ooo ooo ooo ooo

Derek sat next to the hospital bed holding Sammie's hand while a nurse looked for semen on Sammie's thighs and abdomen. The nurse had tried to shoo him out of the out of the way room they'd put Sammie in, but Sammie had clamped onto his hand. He couldn't ignore the scared, pleading look in her eyes and he promised he'd stay with her. So the nurse had set up one of the shields sometimes used during birth so Derek couldn't see what he knew they were doing. Instead, he held her hand and talked to her quietly.

Sammie jumped slightly and the nurse apologized. Derek closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the back of her hand. She was taking vaginal swabs now. Derek really didn't want to be here while they did this. The sound of sniffling tears drew his gaze up and his heart hurt. Taking a deep breath, he wiped away her tears with his fingertips. Sammie offered a weak smile and Derek wanted to throttle something.

"Nurse, is she ready for the pelvic exam?"

"Almost, Doctor. I just need to take the oral swab."

"Have the police taken their pictures?"

Sammie closed her eyes in humiliated remembrance and Derek stood up; leaning over the bed, he kissed her forehead and whispered in her ear. Sammie nodded and Derek wiped her tears again.

"– on the inner thighs. Medium tearing on the fossa navicularis at one, four, seven and nine o'clock. Major tearing at eleven o'clock," the doctor dictated to the nurse. Derek gritted his teeth and carefully kept his face neutral for Sammie's sake. "Abrasions on the labia menora at eight, three and eleven. Bruising on the labia majora at eight and three."

Sammie was crying silently and Derek's heart breaking with each tear. Her left eye was nearly swollen shut by this point and most of the bruising was an eggplant purple. He'd never seen anyone's bruise turn so quickly. It should still be the red colour now; it shouldn't be turning purple for at least twelve more hours.

"I know, Baby Girl," he whispered against her hand and closed his eyes again. By the time the doctor finished, Sammie had cried herself out for the time being and a police officer was waiting outside of the room. "Sam, I'm going to go talk to Carlos, okay? I'll be right outside."

Sammie nodded and Derek kissed her forehead again before leaving the room. The nurse pulled the blanket up to her waist as Derek closed the door behind him.

"How's she doing?"

"How would you be doing?"

"Good point, Morgan. Can we talk?"

"I thought you already spoke to her."

"I did. I meant you."

"Because I was the one who called it in."

"When did she arrive at your doorstep?"

"Two fourteen in the morning. She was soaking wet and crying," Derek answered all of Carlos' questions, repeatedly glancing into the door's window to check on Sammie. The nurse was setting up an IV and Derek furrowed his eyebrows together. Why was she setting up an IV? Carlos repeated his question and Derek looked back at him. "I'm not sure. A year, I think. Maybe two. She was with him when I met her two months ago."

"Have you two…"

"No. Just friends. Excuse me," Derek stopped the nurse as she left the room. "What's the IV for?"

"She's vitamin deficient. The IV is replenishing some of them. Has her diet been normal lately?"

"No," Derek thinned his lips and looked through the window. "She's been starving herself for him. He tells her she's fat and she doesn't believe me when I tell her she's not. Can we finish this later, Carlos?"

"Ten minutes."

"Thanks." Derek pushed the door open and walked back into the hospital room. Sitting back in his chair, he took her hand and squeezed. "Hey now, Princess, keep that ice on your face."

"It's freezing."

"You're cold or your face is cold?"

"Both."

"Here," Derek laid his jacket over her like a blanket. "But your face has to stay cold. It'll keep the swelling down."

"I'm sorry."

"For what, Sam?"

"Dragging you into this mess."

"Don't be ridiculous, Sammie. You're stuck with me."

"When do you work tomorrow?" Sammie adjusted the ice pack and winced.

"I don't work tomorrow. I worked today."

"Is it silly if I ask you to stay?"

"It'd be silly for you to think I'd go anywhere. Try and sleep."

"Derek?" The next time she spoke, her voice was quiet and lethargic.

"Yeah, Baby?"

"How long are you gonna keep saving me?"

"Every day for the rest of my life, Samantha Murdoch."

"That's a long time for only knowing me two months."

"Sometimes, you just know, Sammie-Girl."

"Just know what?" This question was barely a whisper and Sammie's fingers relaxed in his.

"When something's right," he whispered back, gently pulling his hand from hers and making sure hers was safely on the bed before walking quietly out of the room. He walked right past Carlos and down the hall. Took a left at a T-intersection and straight into the bathroom. Locking the door behind him, he took a deep breath and cross the room over to the sink. Derek splashed his face with water and leaned on the sink basin, staring in the mirror.

Turning away, he scrubbed his face with his hands and groaned. Derek cursed angrily and stalked back and forth. Finally, he paused and held still for a moment before his palm collided with the wall with a satisfying, resounding _thud_.

o o o o

"_Anyone can become angry – that is easy, but to be angry with the right person at the right time, and for the right purpose and in the right way – that is not within everyone's power and that is not easy." – Aristotle_

_

* * *

_

**A/N:**

**So, this story is obscenely hard to write and, I'd imagine, hard to read in some ways. Unfortunately, stories like this are far from fiction for so many people, which makes writing them a very delicate and emotional process. I hope my portrayal of who Derek is before we meet him in 'Extreme Aggressor' (such a good first episode) is believable.**

**Okay! I need to stop being sappy or I'll spend the rest of the day playing Coltrane, which isn't necessarily something I wouldn't do on a normal day... Hmmm... I need a new example of what I'd do on a depressed day. I wouldn't cut myself because I have zero pain tolerance, so that's out. Sappy movies maybe? I'll think about it and get back to you. haha**

**Anyways! I hope you like it (despite the emotional roller coaster) and tell me what you think, good or bad!**

**Love, Thalia**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.**

* * *

_ "The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing… not healing, not curing… that is a friend who cares." – Henri Nouwen_

o o o o

28 December, 1999

"He hasn't moved since we got here," James said quietly as he helped his grandfather walk slowly into the room. "He fell asleep around six. Been out ever since."

George coughed violently and sat down on the other side of Sammie's bed. He took her scratched up hand in his large, wrinkled ones and brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss to her fingers. Sammie blinked her eyes open and looked at him.

"I'm sorry, Gramps," her voice was soft and ashamed and her eyes filled with tears. "I'm so sorry, Gramps."

"_Tesorina mia_, don't be sorry."

"Where's Mum?"

"She and Gram are talking to the doctor," James said. "So, can I kill the bastard now? Please."

"James…"

"But Gramps, he _is_ a –"

"You can't kill him, James," George coughed. "I'm the grampa. I get to do that."

James started laughing, Sammie gave a weak chuckle and Georges' coughing continued. Derek could hear the three speaking, but in the hazy way that one heard when they were still mostly asleep. Their voices faintly permeated his subconscious, but he only heard voices; specific words were lost. He couldn't pick out the individual notes or even the individual instruments, but the overall symphony played quietly in the back on his mind.

He felt Sammie squeeze his hand and he shifted slightly. The pillow the nurse had given him a few hours ago lay on the floor now; there was no real way to use it and sit next to the bed at the same time, so he slept sitting up with his shoulders slouched, head nodded forward and tilted to the left, and Sammie's fingers still clinging to his like that connection was the only thing in the whole world keeping her safe.

Derek was vaguely aware that the nurse change Sammie's IV drip, heard the doctor come in and say something or other – it sounded like the teacher in the Peanuts cartoon to him. A patient was wheeled in to the second bed and the curtain behind him drawn for privacy. He was aware of Andria hugging Sammie and their link hands pulled slightly when Sammie leaned into her mother. Both women cried and apologized to each other in tear-choked voices. All the while, he slept in a state of semi-consciousness.

When Sammie's hand slipped from his, Derek jerked and opened his eyes. Sammie sat up in bed now and her face broke his heart. Her left eye was swollen completely shut now and the majority of her face was puffy and bruised and ugly, angry brown and purple. The burst blood vessels in her lip had stopped bleeding and the pooled blood under the dark bruising looked disgusting. The cut on her nose and under her eye had been sewn up and, all in all, Derek's chest tightened painfully at seeing Sammie look like a woman off the NCADV poster that hung in the police station.

"What's going on?" he asked, rubbing his eyes. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Four hours give or take," James told him and looked up from his green Game Boy Colour.

"I just have to go to the bathroom," Sammie explained in a mortified whisper, too embarrassed to meet his eyes. Nodding, Derek settled back in the chair and wiped a hand over his face. He leaned his head back until he stared at the ceiling. He took a deep breath and raised his head back to watch Sammie inch herself out of bed, ready to get up and help her if she needed it.

Derek thinned his lips and clenched the arms of his chair in what he hoped was an unnoticeable reaction as she gripped the IV stand tightly and winced with each step. Every second he watched Sammie, he felt red-hot anger filling him more and more. All she'd wanted was for her boyfriend to love her and, instead, he used her insecurities and her fears to manipulate her, to make her feel completely worthless. Instead of taking care of her, he'd destroyed her. He took her trust and abused it.

Derek closed his eyes against his anger, telling himself that every ounce of his anger was aimed solely at the man who'd hurt Sammie. But, if he were honest with himself, he'd have to admit that more than a small amount of this fury found itself directed at the one who'd hurt and betrayed _him_. Which was why he _wasn't_ be honest with himself.

That very second, as he sat in an uncomfortable chair watching Sammie close the bathroom door behind her, Derek knew only one thing to be absolutely certain: his Sammie would never be hurt again. He wouldn't let anyone ever hurt her. If it were the only thing he ever did for the rest of his life, he'd keep his Sammie safe.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

Andria sat next to Sammie in the seat George had occupied a while ago and Derek realized it was the second time he'd been around Andria and she hadn't been crying or on the verge of crying. The first was at James' football game. Now, she sat next to her daughter and looked eerily calm. He watched her gently run her finger over the scraps on Sammie's hand as if she could sooth them away with a mother's touch. She sat there blaming herself for what happened to Sammie.

Someone knocked at the door and everyone looked up, except for Sammie who'd finally fallen asleep. Carlos poked his head in and motioned for Derek to come outside. Getting up, Derek walked over to the older officer and closed the door behind him, following Carlos down the hallway away from the hospital room.

"What's going on?"

"How well do you know this kid?" Carlos asked, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Well enough."

"She and her brother are in our domestic violence database as repeat victims, Derek. Between the two of them, they've been to the emergency room almost a hundred times over the past four years. Almost two thirds of those visits were for her. This is the last time. Legally, Child Protective Services has to come take them now."

"Sam's nineteen. She's a legal adult."

"Well, they're going to take the boy into protective custody."

"Carlos, the abuser's dead! He shot himself. And now Farese is in jail. They're safe. They don't need to be taken anywhere," Derek countered, but the idea of Sammie and James being hurt so badly that they had to go to the hospital created a fog of rage he had trouble thinking through. Now more than ever, Derek really wanted to strap on his boxing gloves and start pounding on his punching bag.

"I don't make the rules, Derek. And neither do you. It's our job to enforce them though."

"If you go in there and tell them that the state's taking James away, that girl lying there, the one that looks completely helpless, she is going to claw your eyes out. And that kid will disappear. He'll start running the second he's told he's being taken in CPS and you won't find him."

Carlos pursed his lips and glanced at the door as it opened and James slipped out, staring at them for a second before heading towards the vending machines.

"I don't want him to be taken away any more than you do, Derek," the uniformed officer sighed. "But we can't choose which laws to enforce. I'll… I'll see what I can do, okay? I can't promise anything, but I'll try and talk to CPS."

"Thank you," Derek nodded, watching James slip back into the room with a Coke in hand.

"If I could, I'd tell you that CSI techs are over at Farese's apartment," Carlos said slowly, leaning back against the wall, and Derek picked up on the hint instantly.

"I guess it would be stupid for me to try and ask if they found evidence that corroborates Samantha's story," Derek chose his words carefully.

"It's a good thing that you don't ask, because you know I can't tell you that they found blood and semen on the carpet and the place looks like a warzone. Or that a broken, bloody folding chair is on it's way to the CSI lab," Carlos looked to the ceiling as if the cream coloured tiles were fascinating.

"I wouldn't want you to feel pressure about whether or not to tell me if there were any witnesses that heard anything," Derek followed suit and stared at the floor.

"I wouldn't feel pressured. I know I'm not allowed to tell an officer involved in a case that the apartment manager handed over the security camera footage or that the next door neighbour is at the police station giving a statement."

"And I don't want to know," Derek rubbed his arm, a million thoughts screaming through his head. "I'm glad you didn't tell me anything."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

"Room for one more?" The redheaded piccolo girl Derek had seen at the football game poked her head into the room now packed with olive skinned brunettes. The nurse had come in a few times to try an implement the two-people-at-a-time rule, but gave up rather quickly when most of them began pretending not to speak English.

"Hey, Keira," Sammie bit her bottom lip and looked like she wanted to disappear into the floor when her friend came into the room.

"Hey, Babe," Keira closed the door behind her. "I brought you some of Mama's peanut butter snickerdoodles." James let out a whoop and jumped out of his chair, but Keira laughed and tucked the huge Rubbermaid tub behind her back. "No way, lil bro. Wait your turn. If you get them first, there won't be any left for anyone else. Besides, I made you brownies last week."

Keira plopped herself down on the bed next to Sammie and pulled the lid off. Gingerly, Sammie took a cookie and fiddled with it. The redhead rolled her eyes and reached in, took a cookie and tossed it to James.

"Hi there," she waved at Derek. "I'm Keira Young."

"Derek Morgan."

"He's cute. Where'd ya find him?" Keira play-whispered to Sammie and Derek just chuckled and smiled. James, on the other hand, snorted loudly and scoffed, which, in turn, lead to a joking 'let's take this outside' routine between the two from where they both sat on opposite sides of the room. "Samantha Shane. Eat your danged cookie."

"I… I'm not hungry."

"Bullshit," James coughed and Marco smacked the back of his head. James shoved his cousin, knocked him into one of the green-eyed twins whose names Derek could never keep straight. The girl smacked Marco with her purse and Marco pushed James off his chair to land on the floor with a thud. Keira howled with laughter and the smile on Sammie's face appeared to hurt.

"So… can we be rid of Nick now?" Keira asked, grabbing a cookie for herself and a couple more for Sammie before passing the overflowing tub around the room. "Like for good, for good? No more 'No more Nick. Oh look. Nick's back.' bullcrap any more, yeah? Okay. Good. I'm glad we agreed. No more Nick."

Derek watched Sammie carefully and he knew he wasn't the only one waiting for her reaction. She stared at her cookie, breaking a piece off and slowly chewed the tiny piece of cookie, then breaking off another piece and chewing that one just as slowly as she'd chewed the first.

"When can I go home?"

ooo ooo ooo ooo

"You don't think she'll take him back, do you?" James asked Derek from the passenger side of Sammie's green Bug as they followed Andria's sedan out of Chicago and over to Riverside.

"Not if I can help it," Derek shook his head. "I want him in jail for a long ass time, James."

"You aren't gonna let her down, are you?"

"What are you talking about, kid?"

"Well… she trusts you."

"I'm not going anywhere," he told James firmly. "I'm not leaving her and I'm not leaving you, James. I promise. So stop worrying about it."

"Do you think he'll go to jail?" James looked out the window at the Christmastime decorations covering the shop windows and the lights that wound around the tree trucks.

"I hope so. If Sam presses charges, I think so." They drove in silence for the rest of the ride before they turned in to the neighbourhood and into the driveway.

"Home sweet home," Derek closed the car door and watched James run up to the sedan to help his sister out. The navy blue University of Illinois sweatpants the twins had brought made him smile. Bright orange letters spelled out UI COLLEGE OF MUSIC down the side and the colours looked funny next to her green Converse. Derek had almost gone to the Chicago campus of the University of Illinois, but had chosen to wear the purple and white jersey of Northwestern Law instead.

James had liked the picture of Derek in his cleats and pads, the number nine in purple against the white jersey, as he fell back to throw the ball. It was one of the few pictures in his apartment and James had picked it up when he'd come over. It had been Derek's favourite until a few weeks ago when he added a picture of him and James soaking wet, covered in snow, in the park with the soccer ball. Their Aunt Paula had taken the picture and, as soon as Derek got a copy, he bought a wooden frame at Target and put it on the dining room table that was pushed up against one wall.

He looked at the picture while he ate a lot of the time, when he wasn't watching EPSN or catching up on the games he missed while he was working. Sometimes, he wondered if he was doing any good by becoming such a part of the boys life or if he was setting the boy up for something… he didn't know what. He worried he'd hurt James.

But now, he saw James walking slowly besides Sammie as she winced her way up the steps to their house. James was a good kid. So much bad had happened to him, but there was still so much good left completely unspoiled by the past. His icy blue eyes held darkness and anger, but, when he looked past that, Derek could see more.

Hope. Some unfounded faith that they, that he and his sister and mom, would be alright somehow.

If Derek could keep that look in James' eyes, than he knew he'd be there whenever James wanted him.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

_ "Work with lepers. Blind kids. Anything's gotta be better than lying around all day waiting for me to fuck you."_

_ "Don't toot your horn, honey. You're not that good."_

James laughed at Al Pacino and Michelle Pfeiffer duked it out on the television screen. A while ago, James had begged Derek to take him driving, which translated into 'You're over twenty-one. Sit in the passengers seat so I can drive to Burger King.' and now a slew of wrappers and fry containers littered the coffee table. Even Sammie hadn't been able to resist her favourite burger when James shoved it into her hands and Derek approved silently when she finished both the hamburger and the fries.

Derek never would have guessed Sammie's favourite movie was _Scarface_, but that was the videocassette she insisted go into the VCR. She was nearly asleep on the couch now. She'd started drifting off soon after finishing her food. The ice pack against her face tilted away as her hand became more and more lax and her head started to droop.

"Sammie-Girl, why don't you go to bed?" Derek asked. Sammie blinked her eyes a few times, trying to focus on him.

"Stairs," she mumbled.

"What?"

"There's too many stairs," she whispered more clearly. "Moving hurts."

"Do you want to go upstairs?" When she nodded, Derek pushed himself up off the bed and walked over to the couch Sammie lay on. He knelt down and carefully picked her up. The ice pack wedged between her cheek and his shoulder as he made sure he held her securely before heading for the stairs. "James, clean this up."

"Wha–" James protested feebly.

"Most of those wrappers are yours," he laughed as he carried Sammie up the narrow staircase to the second floor and James grumbled but picked up the trash. "Which room, Baby Girl?"

Walking through the whitewashed door she pointed out, he set her down on the bed. Her room was bright, full of colour and pictures, silly sketches on lined paper and index cards tacked up on the corkboard over her desk. "Get some sleep, Princess."

"Stay. Please?"

"Sammie, I don't know if that's a good idea," Derek told her, standing in the doorframe, one foot already in the hall. He did not want to be in her bedroom. He knew better than to be in her bedroom.

"Please?" Derek couldn't say no to those brown eyes. He was sure they'd be his undoing. Sighing, he pushed the door wide open, making sure it stayed that way by using the trashcan as a door stopper. He pulled over her desk chair to sit next to her. Sammie pulled a doll from the nightstand table next to her bed and hugged it tight.

"Who's that?" He asked.

"Her name's Samantha Parkington. Daddy got her for me when I was six," Sam looked at the dolls face, touching its face with her finger. "There's like a bazillion American Girl Dolls now, but Sam was one of the first ones. When I was little, I wanted to look like her. All my cousins had brown hair and I had blonde. She was thin with curly brown hair and I was a fat blonde. Still am."

"You're not fat, Sammie. You're beautiful."

Sammie closed her eyes and threaded her fingers through his. "Don't leave."

"I won't, Princess. You're safe, Sam. Try and sleep."

o o o o

_"But what is the good of friendship if one cannot say exactly what one means? Anybody can say charming things and try to please and to flatter, but a true friend always says unpleasant things, and does not mind giving pain. Indeed, if he is a really true friend he prefers it, for he knows that then he is doing good." – Oscar Wilde_

* * *

A/N:

**Sammie is about the size of America Ferrera circa _Real Women Have Curves_. That's how I envision her when I write. If you haven't seen that movie, you definitely need to. It's absolutely fabulous.**

Samantha Parkington is a real doll. I actually have her in a box in storage right now. I'm so sad about that. I collect American Girl Dolls (I have all but two). I'm lame, I know. But all of my dolls except my favourite, Felicity, is in storage because we're moving and I don't want anything to happen to them. I'll take them out again soon. It was so weird wrapping them all up in bubble wrap and putting them in boxes. So, so weird.

Okay... So, Yes, this chapter was posted yesterday and then taken down. I'm sorry! I wasn't a hundred percent happy with it when I posted it. And then I re-read it later that day and was even more convinced I shouldn't have posted it. It wasn't ready. I was having trouble with the chapter and I was just kind of like "okay... it's good enough." and posted it. I really shouldn't have. So I took it down and worked on it some more. I'm much happier with it now. The jerky spots are smoothed out and it definitely flows better. So, if you read the original one, I hope you agree with me that this version is like... a trillion times better. And I'm sorry you had to read it twice. Lol.

Soooooo... I'm on Facebook. A lot of my friends who read _Mystery Muse_, my Spencer Reid story, are my friends on Facebook and OH MY GOD do we have fun. Massive mayhem. I love it. Ohhh... that'd be a great title for a one-shot or something. I CALLED IT. :D Sorry... I haven't had enough caffeine yet today so my brain is not channeled. You should definitely be my Facebook friend so we can hang out and have fun. "Thalia Gratiae." DO IT.

**I'm gonna go get some Diet. Dr. Pepper before I go through the roof. That sounds like a faaaaabulous idea. I hope you liked the chapter and, please, tell me what you think - good or bad!**

Love, Thalia


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.**

* * *

"_Man is immortal, not because he alone among creatures has an inexhaustible voice, but because he has a soul, a spirit capable of compassion and sacrifice and endurance." – Morgan Freeman_

o o o o

9 January, 2000

Sammie screamed.

Derek could hear her screaming, but he couldn't find her. He drew his gun and ran from room to room, throwing door after door open, but her cries never got any closer no matter how many rooms he checked.

"Derek! Derek, help me!" She screamed. Her voice was so clear and distant at the same time.

"Sammie!" He shouted her name in no particular direction, turning in circles and staring desperately at the endless stream of doors and hallways. He'd never find her in here. He kicked in the door opposite and ran through to the door inside. Down a corridor and through another door that led him to a staircase to a basement. A foot of water flooded the basement and Derek waded through as the screams finally began getting closer.

"Sammie!" He could hear her on the other side of the door, but couldn't get through. He pounded on the door and kept trying to kick just beneath the doorknob like he'd been taught, but neither did anything even remotely useful. Leaning his head against the door, he hit his fist against the door a few more times. He could hear her screaming and crying, but he couldn't get to her. He felt so terrifyingly helpless.

Suddenly, he stumbled forward as the solidness of the door dissolved and he fell through. Startled, he looked back to see the door still standing there, once again as solid as the oak it was built from. Derek didn't wait another second before running forward, his soaking shoes and jeans making slopping noises on the dry cement as he ran.

He came to the door where the screams were loudest and broke the door open with a well-placed kick. The door ricocheted off the wall and Derek carefully entered the room with his gun raised and ready, unsure of what to expect. He could hear Sammie crying, but couldn't see her.

"No! No! Please, don't… Please!"

Derek rounded a corner and finally found her. Her white dress had been mostly torn off and she bled from a gash on her forehead.

"Get the hell away from her, you son of a bitch," Derek yelled, keeping his gun level with the back of the curly black head. The boy froze for a moment before turning on him, a pistol in his hand. Nick got off two shots that whizzed by Derek's head. Derek's single shot hit Nick squarely in the forehead and he fell backwards, his gun clattering to the cement ground.

"Sammie, Baby Girl, hold on," Derek kicked away Nick's pistol just in case before holstering his own and running over to wear she lay sobbing in the middle of the bed. "Hold still, Baby. Baby, please, I need you to hold still."

She kept thrashing back and forth, letting out bloodcurdling screams as if she were still in physical pain. Sammie tried to pull away from his hands, but the thick ropes binding her hands to the bed frame made escape impossible. Derek pulled his knife from his back pocket and started sawing at the rope as far away from her wrist as possible.

"Sammie-Girl, please. If you don't hold still, I could cut you and I really don't want to do that," Derek begged, but she kept twisting and turning, flailing pathetically like she hadn't even heard his words.

"It's your fault, you know."

"Who's there?" he stopped and stared, searching the dark for the person the voice belong too. "Who the hell are you?"

"You couldn't just let them alone," the voice continued. Derek's hand moved from the rope he'd been holding to hover over the gun holstered to his waist. "If you'd gone on your way and let them be, they'd be so much better off. This is all your fault, Derek."

"Shut the hell up! You don't know anything," Derek drew his gun and strained his eyes. He couldn't see the speaker.

"Oh, but I do… I know everything. Your deepest, darkest secrets," Carl Buford stepped out of the shadows and Derek froze. "You gonna kill me Derek? Go on. Shoot me. Go ahead."

Derek's hands were shaking so badly he couldn't get his finger steady on the trigger. "You… you s-stay away… you stay away from her."

"Come on now, Derek… You know she's not my type."

"Yeah. I know that." Tears welled in Derek's eyes and he glanced down at Sammie curled on the bed, no longer flailing, but sobbing and shaking. When Derek turned back to look at Carl Buford, the man was falling forward, his head rolled away from his body to stop at Derek's feet. James stood in disheveled boxers where Carl Buford had been moments before. A samurai sword dangled from his hand with blood dripping from the tip.

"James, come here. Put that down and come here," Derek gestured for the boy to come over to where he was. "C'mon, James. I'm gonna get you two out of here. I promise. I'm gonna take care of you. I'll protect you, kid."

"How can you protect us when you can't even protect yourself?" James asked him flatly, looking to the corner of the room as the sword dropped to the ground with a clang.

In the farthest, darkest corner, his teenage self sat staring catatonically at the horrible scenes before him. The teenage Derek saw Sammie's naked body still half tied to the bed. He saw James standing there in just his red boxers, his eyes hollow and dead, expressionless. He saw everything, but made no movement.

His teenage self had no restraints keeping him in place, no barriers blocking the way out of his dark corner, but still he stayed where he was. What kept him locked in his dungeon was a thousand times worse than physical chains.

Derek stared at himself, this unmoving shadow of himself. Sammie still sobbed and cried, James kept staring without seeing. And the teenage Derek finally moved. He lifted a small gun and aimed it straight at Derek, who couldn't seem to respond as his teenage self shot him right through the heart.

Jerking awake, Derek fumbled desperately for the lamp on his nightstand. He yanked on the chain as soon as his fingers clasped around it and fell back in relief when light flooded his sparse bedroom. Derek stared at the ceiling and took a deep breath. His sheets were soaked through with sweat despite the fact that he hadn't turned the heater on before going to bed in the first place. The room was freezing, but he was drenched as if it were well over a hundred degrees.

"Where the hell did James get a fucking samurai sword?" Derek mumbled, pushing himself out of bed and stumbling towards the bathroom. He pushed the door open and turned on the shower before kicking away his boxer-briefs and stepping under the stream of water.

The hot water felt good against tense muscles and Derek closed his eyes, just trying to relax. Eventually, he sat down and let the water beat down on him while he attempted to remove the dream from where it had been permanently branded into his subconscious. He was twenty-three years old and Carl Buford still terrified him like he was twelve.

"Get the hell out of my head," he whispered to himself. "What happened to Sam is not my fault. It's not my fault. Not my fault, not my fault. I took her to the hospital. She's safe. She's not being hurt. She's safe. It's not my fault."

Derek leaned his head back against the tile, took a deep breath and reminded himself that James was not being abused by Carl Buford. Derek would keep James as far away from Carl Buford as physically possible. Derek would be dead before Carl Buford laid a finger on James. He would keep James and Sammie safe. He didn't care what he had to do, what it cost him or his career – he would keep James and Sammie safe.

Deep inside, he knew he was so adamant about protecting the two because he had not been able to protect himself. He couldn't protect himself and no one had protected him, but he wouldn't let that happen to James and Sammie. Not any longer.

Shutting off the water, he stepped out of the shower and dried himself off, walking back through the door to his bedroom with the faded red towel wrapped around his waist. He heard piano music coming from his living room as he pulled on a pair of flannel bottoms and a worn out white shirt with the sleeves cut off.

Curious, Derek walked out into the living room and smiled when he saw Sammie sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table. Her delicate fingers moved smoothly over the keyboard on the table before her. He leaned against the wall, watching her play with her eyes closed, looking so beautifully peaceful.

After a little while, he padded silently over to her and sat down on the ground next to her. Derek kissed the top of her head and wrapped an arm around her shoulder to give her a squeeze.

"How'd you get in here, Baby Girl?"

"You gave me a key, remember?" Sammie leaned her head against his shoulder and stopped playing for a moment.

"Let me look at your face," Derek pulled back to check the bruises on her face. It had been almost two weeks and, while the bruises were no longer black and purple, her face was still an angry yellow-green colour. "At least the swelling's gone."

"It just looks ugly," Sammie quipped with a halfhearted smile.

"No, Angel. Nothing about you is ugly," he shook his head and kissed the skin between her left eye her blond hair where the bruising was the darkest. "Not one single thing. What were you playing?"

"My favourite piece. It's really an a cappella composition by Gustav Holst, but I worked it out on the piano a long time ago. Holst is my favourite composer. I love his work. This one is my absolute favourite. It's called 'In Youth is Pleasure.' Holst took the words from Robert Wever's poem of the same name and wrote music for it. The words are a tiny bit different because it Wever wrote in the sixteenth century and Holst composed in the twentieth century, but unless your looking at the poem and listening at the same time, you don't realize it."

"I take it you've read the lyrics and listened to the song at the same time," Derek teased. "Sing for me?"

"You can't make fun."

"Why would I make fun?"

"I'm not a singer."

"I promise. I won't make fun," Derek smiled and nudged her to the keyboard. He watched as she closed her eyes and her fingers danced over the keys for a moment before she started singing.

"In arbour green, asleep I lay, the birds sang sweet in the middle of the day, I dreamed fast of mirth and play: in youth is pleasure, in youth is pleasure. Methought I walked still to and fro, and from her company I could not go—but when I waked it was not so: in youth is pleasure, in youth is pleasure. Therefore my heart is surely plight of her alone to have a sight, which is my joy and heart's delight: in youth is pleasure, in youth is pleasure."

Sammie didn't look at him after she stopped singing; rather, she stared at the keyboard and traced the edges of the black keys with her fingertips. Derek kept watching her. There was something about her when she played that was completely and utterly captivating. When she played, all the self-consciousness and self-doubt that she cloaked herself in all the time melted away and she seemed to give herself to wholly to the music.

"Beautiful," he smiled, pulling her close. She turned her head to look at him and, before he realized what he was doing, his lips were pressed gently against hers. Sammie squeaked in surprise and pulled back. A second passed while she looked at him almost fearfully before leaning forward and kissing him. Derek held her as tightly as he could without hurting her still battered sides.

"Derek…" Sammie's hand molded to his check and she closed her eyes. "Derek, don't hurt me."

"I promise, Baby Girl, I'll never hurt you," Derek kissed her again and brushed a hand through her hair. A sharp pain in his side stopped the kiss suddenly and he stared down at her in confusion while he fumbled around the knife handle sticking out from between his ribs. He felt the blood flowing over his fingers and he grappled to understand what we going on. "Sammie…"

"You'll hurt me," she whispered, staring at the blood covering her hand.

Derek bolted upward and froze before dropping back down onto his mother's couch and groaning. He ran a hand over his face. He had to be awake now, right?

"It's about time you woke up," Desiree looked up from her magazine. "You've been twitching like a rabbit on speed or something."

"Why didn't you wake me up?" he asked, sitting up and throwing his feet over the side of the couch.

"Watching you sleep was more entertaining for me," she shrugged and flipped a page.

"Thanks, sis," Derek pushed himself up off the couch.

A blizzard that had come a day early had stranded him at his mother's house for the past several hours, but he was relatively sure he'd be able to get back to his apartment by evening. Standing, he walked over to the window, pulled back the curtain and glanced out at the grey sky. Snow fell steadily, not as heavy as it had been, but still enough to be too dangerous to ride his bike through.

Derek stretched and grabbed his backpack before walking towards his old bedroom. He closed the door behind him, sitting down on the bed with his head in his hands. He was not allowed to be dreaming about kissing Samantha Murdoch. It didn't matter what dimension he was in. Sammie was a hundred percent off limits.

Reaching into his backpack, he pulled out a CD and reached over to place it in the CD player on the nightstand. He stretched out on the bed as the music started. Derek had never been much for classical music, but the more he listened to it the more he found it soothing. A clarinet solo began and he closed his eyes. Sammie had reluctantly given him the CD after he'd asked her several times.

He'd never watched her play the clarinet and right now her mouth was too swollen to play any instrument. Watching her play the piano though… he'd never seen anything quiet like Sammie playing. There was something almost ethereal about it.

Now, listening to her play the clarinet, he found himself wanted to watch her play. He tried to remember the assortment of instrument cases in her bedroom. He had studied the cases while he sat next to Sammie holding her hand while she slept. That afternoon had been rough. She would sleep for a while before waking up in a panic and he'd calm her back down until she fell asleep again. And while she slept, he studied her bedroom.

Everything in her room related someway to music. There were pictures of her with friends in five different marching uniforms. In the red uniform, she looked very young so he assumed she was in junior high. He recognized the two different bright blue uniforms from James' football games. One was the general uniform and the one with the skirt had to be the drum major uniform. The dark blue and orange uniform was obviously from college, but the red and black uniform had stumped him. In the other uniforms, she carried a clarinet, but in that one she had a pair of cymbals.

Okay. He needed to stop thinking about Sammie. He needed to stop thinking about how beautiful she looked when she smiled, about how her brown eyes seemed to see right into his soul when she looked at him, about how much she trusted him.

"Dammit, Derek. What the hell are you doing?"

o o o o

"_Suffering is the price of being alive, and it is music and singing and art that has helped me live through some of the most difficult things that have happened to me." – Judy Collins

* * *

_

**A/N:**

**Hey guys. J.J.'s gone. I cried so hard. Like... I crazy cried last night. My apartment was a freaking sobfest. I mean tissues everywhere. I just could not handle it. I couldn't do it. But I did like how they wrote her out. It was perfect. I mean... I couldn't have asked for better. I will admit though, I'm secretly hoping that CBS will realize what a ridiculously dumb move they made and beg A.J. Cook to come back next season. I'm not holding my breath, but I can't help but hope. I just keep telling myself that I have five full seasons on J.J. on DVD and her exit was beautiful and everything will be okay. I miss her already.**

**The Maple Leafs beat the Senators yesterday! I was so happy. I didn't get to watch the game because I was, obviously, watching _Criminal Minds_. But I got to see the last few minutes of the game through my tears. I love the Maple Leafs. They are my team no matter how badly they've been doing the past... yeah... But! A true fan supports and loves her team no matter what. And I love the Leafs. They will be on top again! I have faith! ****I also love the Vancouver Canucks... I just love them, but when they play the Leafs, I have to hardcore support the Leafs. Original Six, my friends! Hey... I'm half Canadian. I mean, loving hockey (CANADIAN HOCKEY, THANK YOU VERY MUCH) is like non-negotiable. The Leafs are playing the Red Wings tomorrow and Saturday, so BrilliantDarkness and I can't be friends again until Sunday. Haha**

**Okay. I have to go. I have to drive back home to watch Little Brother and the Bonus Brothers play football and hang out with one of my besties Kaff! We've been besties since 7th grade and our L.B.'s are also is the same grade and our mums are friends. It's just like one big happy, slightly crazy, totally out of this world family and I love it. So, I'm out. I have a long drive ahead of me.**

**Thanks so, so much for reading and, please, tell me what you think! Good or bad! Love you all!**

**Love, Thalia**


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.**

* * *

"_Courage is not the lack of fear, but the ability to see it." – Lt. John B. Putnam, Jr._

o o o o

13 January, 2000

"C'mon, Baby Girl," Derek sighed as he and Sammie walked out of the United Center and into the cold. Sammie tugged her down coat around herself and shivered. Smiling, Derek wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.

"Oh my God, it's freezing," she said, tucking herself as close as possible to him so his body blocked the wind from stinging her face.

"The car's not that far. You need some new gloves. Thick, leather ones."

"I have some; I just can't find them," Sammie grimaced. "Watch, I'll find them in June or something."

Derek opened the door of the little green Bug and helped Sammie in before closing the door and walking around the front of the car. Turning the key in the ignition, he flipped on the defrosters and heat. He grabbed the ice scraper from the floorboard by Sammie's feet and got back out of the car to scrap the thin coat of ice from the windshield.

"I want the boys to stop failing at life," Sammie quipped when Derek was back in the car.

"Yeah, that was a pretty rough game, huh?"

"It was the worst," she shook her head. "I lost track of how many power plays we just gave away. Hooking, icing, cross-check, roughing, slashing, interference, boarding, netminder interference, high sticking, even delaying the game. I mean… ugh. It was just ridiculous. I think most of the game was spent five-on-four, even five-on-three! Some spent more time in the box than on the ice."

"Seatbelt, Sam," Derek pointed to the unused safety device. "Put on your seatbelt."

"It's like they had a bet!" Sammie continued grousing as she pulled on her seatbelt and Derek carefully navigated through the parking lot. "It's like they were like, 'Hey! I bet I can rack up ten penalties by the first intermission.' 'Oh yeah? You're totally on! I'm going for twenty!'"

Derek started to laugh and Sammie just huffed in annoyance at the entire situation. Holding her hands in front of the air vents, Sammie shivered again, mumbling about how the heater needed to work faster. When the traffic out of the lot came to a standstill, Derek tugged his gloves off and handed them to her.

"Derek, you're hands are going to freeze," she shook her head and tried to give them back, but he nudged her hands away.

"Put them on, Princess. Can't send you back to school with damaged fingers. You'd have to change your major. And _that_ would be a tragedy."

"Are you sure?"

"As sure as I am that that game was the worst sport event I've ever seen in my entire life. Including my cousins peewee football game where the players kept scoring on themselves."

"Wow… that's pretty damn sure. Thanks, Der," Sammie tugged the too-big black gloves on over her fuzzy green ones. Awkwardly, she pushed the button on the stereo and turned the volume button down to a reasonable level, fumbling slightly over the leather gloves that extended about an inch beyond the ends of her fingertips. "My hands are too little."

"Naw, they're cute," Derek said without thinking as he turned onto West Madison Street.

"Too little," she shook her head ruefully. "It's hard to play the piano at times. I want my fingers to be about a quarter of an inch longer. But I don't think they're going to grow anymore."

"You seem to get along pretty well."

"I can barely span an octave. Any smaller and I would never be able to play difficult, octave spanning pieces. They're just barely big enough. My teacher wanted me to play a Liszt's Hungarian Rhapsody Number Six for my recital last April. Good Lord, it took forever and a day to get the stupid piece down."

"I bet it was beautiful."

"I tripped up at the actual recital. Five minutes in I fumbled. I couldn't believe it. So embarrassing."

"It couldn't have been that bad," Derek shrugged and navigated onto the merge for I-Two-Ninety. "You probably just remember it worse than it was because you were embarrassed."

"I dunno, maybe. Dad kept saying if I'd practiced more…"

Derek thinned his lips and reached over to take her hand and squeeze. Sammie looked down at their hands and then up at him, watching him flip the turn signal on and try to move into the middle lane. Turning her head, she looked out the window, keeping her hand loosely in his.

"Who is this?" Derek asked after several minutes of uncomplicated silence.

"What?"

"The CD. What band is this?"

"Oh. The Goo Goo Dolls. They're my favourite. This is their fifth album. _A Boy Named Goo_. Their sixth album came out last year, _Dizzy Up the Girl_. I like _Dizzy_ the best, but I don't think it's in the car. I don't really care for their first three tapes. I mean, I have them, of course, but they didn't make the top twenty."

"They did that song 'I'll Be,' right?"

"Actually, no. Everyone thinks they did that song, but they didn't. That was Edwin McCain on his CD _Misguided Roses_. It peaked at number five and, unfortunately, his only top ten so far. I'm sure he'll get more. He's got so much talent. He just released a new single from the new CD that came out last June. 'I Could Not Ask for More.' Oh my goodness, the song's so beautiful. I hope it does well in the charts. That's a really good CD too. They both are. You can borrow them if you want."

"Why don't you just make a list of all the music I have to listen to?" Derek half joked. "I'll never remember all the random music you bring up. You're like a music encyclopedia or something."

"I'm sorry, I just love music so much," Sammie's voice was suddenly quiet and he could tell without looking at her that her face was flushed red. "I don't mean to babble."

"I didn't mean it in a bad way, Baby Girl," he smiled.

"I love music."

"I know."

"Music's always there for you. No matter what happens or who leaves or… hurts you. Music's always there. Music's always _safe_. No matter what. Music's there when you don't know what to do or what to say."

Derek squeezed her hand.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

"You don't have to feed me," Sammie told him from where she sat at his table.

"Neither one of us could eat during that game. I'm starving. There's no way you're not at least a little hungry. And you feed me all the time. It's not going to be as good as your cooking, but I can hold my own on a burger, so just sit down and chill. You stress out too much, Sammie. I have a decent collection of movies. You could put something in if you want."

Getting up, Sammie wandered over to the television in the living room and studied the bookcase. Derek could hear her pick up movies and put them back before deciding on one and turning on the television.

"What'd you pick?"

"_Silence of the Lambs_. Anthony Hopkins was so creepy in it. I had nightmares about it for months. Granted, I was eleven at the time."

"You were allowed to watch a rated R movie when you were eleven?" Derek stopped in surprise and nearly dropped the burger he'd been in the middle of flipping.

"Allowed… snuck into my backpack and smuggled to a friends house… same thing, right?" Derek started laughing and turned back to the stove. "Yeah… Mum grounded me for a week after that one. Apparently, my nightmares gave me away."

"I never would have pegged you as liking horror movies."

"Love them. I don't know why. We should watch _Se7en_ later. That movie was so brilliant. The vanity death really grossed me out though. Who would rather be dead than disfigured? Seriously?"

"Someone really, really vain? Ketchup?"

"And mustard."

Derek plated the food and carried it over into the living room, sitting down on the couch next to Sammie after she took her plate. He noticed she still picked over the plate a little before actually beginning to eat, but had to be happy with the fact that she didn't put off eating nearly as long as she had been two weeks ago.

"There are some people who should just be locked away," Derek commented after one of Hopkin's rather long pieces of dialogue to Jodi Foster. The man truly was exceedingly creepy as Hannibal Lecter.

"No kidding. Who wants Charles Manson running around?"

"Farese was released on bail until he's officially charged," Derek picked up the empty plates and stood up to take them to the pictures. "He'll be back in jail as soon as the charges are filed."

"I… I… I'm not pressing charges," Sammie whispered, staring at her hands. Derek dropped the plates into the sink in surprise that seamlessly morphed straight to furious anger.

"What the hell do you mean you're not pressing charges?" he demanded. "How can you _not_ press charges? Sam, he could have fucking killed you! He raped you! He beat you! You're just going to let him get away with it?"

Sammie was gone when he walked back out into the living room. Jodi Foster's uncertain face filled the television screen and Derek groaned. Taking a few deep breaths, he calmed himself down before going to look for her. She was somewhere in the apartment. He would have heard the front door close if she'd left.

"Sammie?" Derek pulled the closet door in his bedroom open and saw her hiding in the corner partially blocked by a few pairs of slacks he had hanging up. "Can I come in, Baby Girl?"

"I'm sorry," she whispered and Derek smiled sadly. Getting down in the most non-threatening position he could think of, he crawled into the closet on his hands and knees and sat next to her. He felt her tense when he pulled her into his arms. Derek kissed her temple and held her quietly, willing her to relax.

"You didn't do anything wrong, Baby," he reassured her, but she didn't relax against him like he hoped she would. She stayed stiff and anxious. "I'm sorry I yelled, Sammie. I promise you, Baby, I will never, ever hurt you.

"I'm sorry," she whispered again.

"Don't apologize, Sam. You didn't do anything wrong," Derek said into her hair.

"I didn't mean to make you angry."

"Princess, look at me. Please?" Derek waited until she raised her head the tiniest bit and he reached up to tuck her hair out of her eyes. She jerked away from his hand and looked so completely terrified that Derek wanted to kick himself all the way to Tokyo and back. He had scared her. Hell, he hadn't scared her. He'd petrified her. "Angel, I will never lay a hand on you in anger. I swear to God, I will never hurt you in any way. Yes, I was angry, I am angry that you don't want to press charges. But that doesn't mean I'm going to hurt you.

"Not all men hurt women, Sammie," Derek shook his head. "Your dad and Nick… They… Sammie, not every man's like them. I'm not like them. You're safe with me. You're always safe with me. No matter how angry or upset I might be."

Sammie didn't respond, but after a half hour of tense silence, she leaned against his chest and relaxed. Relieved beyond words, Derek wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head.

"I'm scared," she finally admitted. Derek's heart broke and he waited, worried she'd say she was scared of him. "I… I don't want to press charges because I'm scared."

"You're scared of Nick?" Derek couldn't help but be a little relieved when she nodded. "Oh, Baby Girl, he's never going to come near you again. But he might try if he's not in jail. He needs to pay for what he's done, Sammie. He can't be allowed to hurt you and get away with it."

"What if he's not found guilty?"

"There isn't a jury in the world that would find him 'not guilty,'" Derek shook his head, unwillingly thinking about the pictures in the case file Carlos had 'left' on his desk while he went for coffee last week. No, not a single person could possibly entertain the idea of a 'not guilty' verdict.

"You really think I should press charges?"

"I really do, Angel."

"I'd have to testify, wouldn't I?" Sammie's voice was muffled by his shirt and Derek kissed her hair.

"Yes," he answered simply.

"I don't know if I can get up there a-and tell people what he did. Especially not with him staring at me while I talk."

"I'd be right there, Baby Girl. You wouldn't be alone, Sammie."

Sammie nodded noncommittally and they lapsed into silence again. The silence wasn't exactly comfortable, but nor was it uncomfortable. It sat awkwardly in the middle and Derek felt her lean more and more against him until he was almost sure she'd fallen asleep from exhaustion.

Sammie, she scared him. Her existence scared him. Every moment he knew he cared about her more than the second before and that scared him. She was becoming such a large part of his world and he found himself caring about her more than he'd meant to, if not more than he'd really expected. And, to be honest, it scared him.

He was getting in over his head.

Derek wasn't sure what time it was when he finally moved, carefully standing up with Sammie in his arms and walked out of the closet. He put her into his bed and pulled the covers up over her. Grabbing a spare pillow from the floor, he closed the door behind him and padded over to the couch. The dishes could wait. He needed to sleep.

o o o o

"_Love works in miracles every day: such as weakening the strong, and stretching the weak; making fools of the wise, and wise men of fools; favouring the passions, destroying reason, and, in a word, turning everything topsy-turvy." – Marguerite De Valois_

_

* * *

_

**A/N:**

**Oh, shit. What's happening now?**

**Well... BrilliantDarkness and I can be friends again. The Red Wings won in Detroit and the Maple Leafs won in Toronto and it's Sunday, so we're officially friends again. Ya know... Until the next time the Wings play either the Leafs or the Canucks. But we'll cross that bridge when we get to it.**

**Little Brother and the Bonus Brothers won their football game Thursday night so that was fun. They almost lost cause they went in all crazy over confident and were like, "Duuuude. We have this one in the bag!" and started making stupid mistakes and giving away points. But they won in the end, so I guess that's all the matters, right?**

**I got to spend time with my BFFisle, Kaff on Saturday. That was so much fun. She and her mum, my Ema, are as addicted to CM as me and my mum. So funny. I love it.**

**Anyways, I have to go drive back up to school and take Uncle Numero Ocho back up with me because his truck broke down. So that's gonna be fun. ish. maybe. I NEED CAFFEINE. And food. I'm really hungry. Anyways, I'm outtie! Thanks for reading and, please, tell me what you think, good or bad!**

**Love, Thalia**


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.**

* * *

"_Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important." – Ambrose Redmoon_

o o o o

16 January, 2000

The police station hadn't slowed down since he'd clocked in at six that morning and there were no signs of it slowing down any time soon. He was at the desk filling out the last on the paperwork on the stoned teenager he'd just arrested. Derek's hand stilled in the middle of his signature when he heart an unfortunately familiar voice hollering obstinacies as loud as possible.

Derek turned in time to see two officers wrangling Nick Farese towards the holding cells. He wasn't sure if his face showed it, but internally he lead a parade with three full marching bands and flaming batons. Even a motorcycle brigade. Sparklers. Fireworks. Wild cheering.

"You did this, you son of a bitch!" Nick yelled when he saw Derek. "That little slut wasn't fucking worth it. This is your fucking fault! She'd never do this without you, you bastard!"

The corner of Derek's mouth twitched, but he looked back down and finished signing his name. Flipping the file closed, he handed it to the woman behind the desk and walked away. The shouting became muted when he walked through the door, now unable to keep a semi-smug smile off his face.

Maybe Sammie let Nick get away with this before, but she wasn't this time and Derek didn't give two shakes what prompted the change. If he was the reason, great; if he wasn't, that was great too. All Derek cared about was that Nick was as far away from Sammie as possible.

The day had been rather depressing and definitely not the better of workdays, but now… well, now it was just plain perfect. The rest of the year would be a let down compared to today. But he really didn't mind.

He was falling in love with the girl who'd changed his world. He hadn't meant to. God knew he hadn't meant to fall for Sammie. But then the world was full of things that weren't _meant_ to happen. It had, it was, but he knew, assured himself constantly, that he would never act upon his feelings for her. He would keep them tucked away where he kept the rest of his emotions, the rest of his pain and hurt, and simply be her friend. As it should be.

Falling for her was wrong and he knew that. She was too young, too innocent, too hurt, and he was completely wrong. Too flawed, too damaged, too vile. He wasn't worthy of her and he wasn't about to make her life any more complicated than it already was. Sammie was going back to school tomorrow and that spoke for itself.

The rest of the workday past without him truly realizing what happened around him. It was as if his body was on autopilot and his mind was somewhere else entirely. If he checked the log, there was proof that he had indeed continued working, continued pulling people over for speeding and responded to a gas station drive-off, but he couldn't remember doing any of it.

Before he realized it, he was turning in his patrol car and filing his daily report. Derek changed into civilian clothes in the locker room, exchanging his dark blue uniform for jeans and a heavy, long-sleeved shirt. He put his uniform in his backpack to take to the drycleaners, grabbed his jacket from the locker and closed the metal door. Picking up his helmet, he walked out of the room.

"Morgan!"

"Yeah?" Derek turned around at his name.

"Farese wants to see you," called Mark Doone, the officer who had arrested Farese outside Derek's apartment.

Derek laughed. He couldn't help the reaction, he just laughed. "I'm good, thanks. I have nothing to say to him."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

Slipping the key into the lock, Derek opened the door to his apartment and stopped in the doorway.

"James? What are you doing here?"

"I just needed to get out of the house. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have –"

"You're fine, kid," Derek cut off the apology he'd heard so often from James' sister, dropping his helmet on the wall table. "I wouldn't have given you a key if I didn't expect you to use it. What's going on?"

"What _isn't_ going on?" James rolled his eyes.

"That good, huh?"

"Gramps went to the hospital today for another CAT scan to find out why he's losing feeling in his legs and they found this huge mass thing in his spine and they're gonna do radiation to try and shrink because they can't do surgery without risking something bad happening to his spinal cord and that'd be bad," James looked down at his hands and Derek sat next to him on couch.

"They didn't find that when they found the lesions?"

"Apparently not. So he's gonna get radiation on the spine as well as on his brain. I don't really know how it works. Gramps is acting weird. It's like… he's different. He's not acting like himself. I made a comment about something or other on the news and he just kept staring ahead."

"He'll get better, James. He's going to be fine. The radiation will work and he'll be as good as new," Derek shook his head, wishing his voice sounded more convincing than it actually did.

"And Sam's going back to school tomorrow. And when she's gone everything's going to be weird again. Not that it's not all fucked up anyways," James scowled. "I hate it when she's gone. It's just me and Mum and it's just weird. I love Mum. A lot. But it's just weird. It's hard. I mean… Mum is my mum. Ya know? She's my mother. But Sam's my mum. Sam's really my mum. She's the one that cooked dinner since I was in elementary school. She's the one that was there to walk me to my friends' houses or to soccer practices. Sam helped me with my homework. She's the one that was responsible for dealing with me when I was bad.

"She couldn't go anywhere because she had to take care of me. We fought about it. She used to get really upset with Mum because she couldn't go out with her friends. She couldn't go on the Internet to do her homework or talk to her friends incase someone tried to call the house. I could go out, but she couldn't. It was like she was prisoner in the house," James was crying now, but kept talking. "I was so mean to her. I didn't appreciate her. And when she got mad at me or yelled at me, I just yelled back saying she wasn't my mum and she couldn't tell me what to do. But whenever it was important, she was there for me."

"She was always crying or eating. The only time she ever seemed happy was when she was playing her clarinet or the piano. And then Dad would come home and everything would go to hell. He'd tell her she was fat or that her music was terrible and she should just give up because she'd never do anything right. She used to hide cookies in her room because she didn't want Dad to see her eating them."

"Where was your mom?" Derek asked when James finally paused for longer than just to catch his breath.

"Dad lost his job when I was in grade five, so Sam was in grade eight. And Mum went back to work. Before, she'd been working at Ponsiglione's and at the bakery part time. But she had to go to work at a call center. Mum didn't go to college and we needed more than just what she made working at Ponsiglione's. And medical insurance. So, she went to work at a call center for some credit card company and people were awful to her. They'd call in because something was wrong with their card and they'd call her names and tell her she was stupid. She'd get home at eight or ten at night and she'd just go into her bedroom and cry.

"Dad was supposed to come home from the outplacement building early to take care of us. He only came home early once. Four years. It was like that for four years. Mum was so different before that. She'd cook dinner every night and check homework. She volunteered at school and… she was so perfect. I know she wasn't really perfect. No one's perfect, but that's how I remember it. She was scared of Dad though. He didn't start out as bad as it ended. It was yelling and threatening. Calling us stupid and telling us we were worthless and… and then he hit Sam. He was trying to help her with math. I remember really clearly. I wish I didn't. Mum was at the restaurant and I was watching TV in the family room. I got up to get a Coke. Sammie started crying because she didn't understand something and Dad just wasn't listening. He kept saying the same thing over and over again and getting mad because she didn't understand it better just because he said it louder. So she started crying.

"Sammie grabbed her book and ran upstairs. She slammed her door and Dad started cursing and ran upstairs after her. I was still downstairs and I could hear like they were right next to me. 'Don't fucking slam your goddamned door, you worthless piece of shit!' It all got worse after that. Everything, like, exploded. He was so fucking paranoid. Whatever we did, it didn't matter _what_ it was, he'd find some way to twist it that we were out to get him.

"Sammie started gaining weight. I mean, she was never tiny, but she was normal. Average. But, after Dad hit her, she started gaining weight and Dad would throw it in her face every day. Saying she was getting fat to spite him, to make him look bad in front of everyone else. I started to badly in school, especially with math and science, and he'd tell me I was stupid and that I was failing on purpose to show everyone what the stupid son he'd been cursed with."

"James, you are _not_ stupid," Derek shook his head. "There is nothing wrong with you, nothing wrong with Sammie. There was something wrong with _him_. He was the one who couldn't see how good he had it."

"If I was better, maybe he'd have loved me," James crumpled and Derek reached across the couch to hug the boy. All of a sudden, James wasn't the tough, sixteen year old soccer star. He was a small, defeated child who just wanted his dad to hug him and tell him he loved him. He let Derek pull him over and clung to the older man as he cried uncontrollably.

Derek didn't say anything. Just let James cry. He couldn't remember how often he'd cried for the same reason. How much he just wanted Carl Buford to really love him like a son, just wanted to make him proud, but it was never enough. How often he'd thought about walking away from the man, but somehow found he couldn't. He hated it, but he understood every single thing James was crying over.

"I went into Dad's office today. I missed him so much. I went and just sat in his office. We were never allowed in his office. It was off-limits. I was just missing him and looking around and I saw he had a bunch of journals on the bottom of his bookcase. I took one out and started reading," James wiped his nose of the back of his arm and reached into his pocket. Pulling out a slip of paper that had obviously been torn out of one of those journals and started reading, "'Thursday twenty-five April. Nineteen ninety-six. Got home at five-forty-two. Samantha failed to get dinner. She tried to blame me for the fact that she couldn't get dinner on time. Also served same meal again. Broke a serving bowl. She doesn't want me to have nice things. James left his belongings in the middle of the walkway. Once again was not there to greet me after I slaved all day with stupid people who cannot get their act together so I can continue to provide the life they demand from me. Most recent job was given to a twenty-two year old boy they can pay less. Mitchell Harper. James also left the bicycle I bought for him in the driveway to show his disrespect for me. I buy him nice things and he treats them, and me, like they're worthless. The bicycle was hidden in the attic.'"

Derek couldn't say anything. He didn't know how to respond to the first words he'd ever heard Tom Murdoch speak.

"That wasn't what happened," James shook his head, looking at the words on the page. "It wasn't like that."

"I know, James."

"It wasn't."

"I know."

"We loved him."

"I know."

"I remember that day. Or, at least, I think I do. I remember one a lot like it."

_Sammie stirred the pasta and glanced at the clock. She was running late and running late was dangerous._

"_Crap, crap, crap…"_

_Sammie put the wooden spoon down, turned and opened the oven to check the meatloaf. She reset the timer for five more minutes and closed the oven door. Turning back to the stove, she stirred the tomato sauce._

"_Sam?" James peeked into the kitchen, looking around cautiously._

"_What is it, James? I'm running late." Sammie drained the water out of the pasta and poured the pasta into a serving bowl. Ladling the tomato sauce over the noodles, Sammie turned and looked at James. "What is it?"_

"_Dad's in the driveway."_

"_Shit. Why does he have to be early today?" Sammie muttered to herself more than to James and put the bowl of pasta on the table next to the mozzarella and parmesan cheese. "Hide, James."_

"_But –"_

"_James, just hide. Go!" Sammie brandished the spatula at him and made a face that told him she was beyond serious. James took a long look at his sister before running jerkily up the stairs when he heard his father open the gate and Sammie dumped the two pots into the dishwasher. _

"_Please be done, please be done, please be done." Opening the oven, Sammie heard the door open behind her. Hiding in the shadows on the landing, he watched his father storm in through the backdoor and Sammie bolt upright. "Hi, Daddy. How was work?"_

"_Long. It was long. Where's my beer?" Tom observed the scene around him. "Dinner's not ready." _

_Sammie pulled the meatloaf out of the oven and put the glass pan on the two trivets on the counter. "It's in the fridge. I was about to get it out. I'm sorry dinner's not ready. Mr. Foner let band out thirty minutes late, so I didn't… I'm sorry."_

"_Dammit, Samantha Shane! I ask one goddamned thing of you and you fuck it up! One fucking thing, Samantha! Dammit!" Tom threw his jacket on the counter. James cringed when his father stalked around the counter towards Sammie._

"_Daddy, I'm sorry! I didn't know band would be late! I'm sorry," Sammie floundered for words as Tom walked over to the table. He picked up the pasta and looked over at the meatloaf on the island in the middle of the kitchen._

"_We had meatloaf and pasta last Friday." He threw the bowl of pasta at Sammie's feet and stalked over. Grabbing her by her hair, Tom jerked her forward. James started crying into the sleeve of his sweatshirt._

"_I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Please, Daddy," Sammie fell to her knees at the force of his grip on her hair. Pieces of shattered bowl dug into her knees and palms, and tears formed in her eyes. Tom threw her into the cupboards and stomped out of the kitchen. _

"_Dinner had better not be late tomorrow."_

_The door slammed and Stephanie wiped the blood from her palms on her pants. James flew down the stairs and into the kitchen as he heard his dad's truck rumble out of the driveway. He dropped next to her as tears flowed down her cheeks and she pulled porcelain shards out of her palms._

"_Sam, you shouldn't have done that. It was my fault," James wiped his eyes. "It wasn't your fault."_

"_It's not your fault," Sammie shook her head._

"_You wouldn't have been late if you hadn't taken me to Luke's house."_

"_It's not your fault," she said firmly, looking up and drying her own tears with the back of her hand. "This is not your fault. Now go get Mum's tweezers for me."_

_James came back with the tweezers and helped her remove the smaller pieces of porcelain. "You should go to the hospital."_

"_I'm fine, James. I just need to rinse with some hydrogen peroxide. I'll put Polysporin on it and I'll be good to go. C'mere, munchkin," Sammie pulled James into a hug and kissed his temple. "This isn't your fault."_

"She just sat there and let me cry. Like I was the one whose hands and forehead were bleeding. And I couldn't protect her."

"James, it wasn't your job to protect her."

"It wasn't her job to protect me, but she did anyway. And it makes me so mad."

"About what?"

"Mum! She wasn't there. She didn't stop him. She just let him hurt us! And say horrible things to us and she didn't do anything about it."

"She loves you, James."

"I know she does," James sighed. They spoke for at least another hour, James ranting and Derek listening or Derek talking James through something before they finally fell silent.

"Child Protective Services came by last week. They said if I go to the hospital one more time, they were going to be forced to put me in foster care," James said suddenly. "What if I break my leg playing soccer again? Can they just take me away if that happens?"

"No, James," Derek smiled. "They can't take you away if you get hurt playing sports. They mean, if you go to the hospital with an unexplainable injury or something you won't explain."

"Okay. Good. I was worried, because I've gone to the hospital at least once every single soccer season for the past, like… since I switched from center to keeper. Keepers get trampled on. I have boots for both feet, casts on both arms… I love soccer."

"Badges of honour, huh?"

"Hell yeah," James grinned. "Only it sucks when you can't play."

"Yeah, that is kind of the down side of getting injured. C'mon kid. I need to feed you."

"You wanna go to the Ponsiglione's?"

"Naw, I've got a better idea. Did you bring your helmet?" James pointed over to Derek's dinner table where the helmet Derek had given him for Christmas sat. "C'mon. Put on your jacket. Let's go."

"Where are we going?"

ooo ooo ooo ooo

Hours later, Derek drove into the Murdoch's driveway and killed the bike's engine. James hopped off and then so did Derek. The back door opened and Sammie's face popped over the fence.

"Hey. I've been wondering where the heck you were. If you didn't come home soon, I was going to take over your bedroom and shove you into the closet."

"Leave my bedroom alone, jerk," James growled, the tough jock back once again. "You already have your music room."

"Like I'd go in your room if I didn't have to. Your gloves stink up the entire room. The glove-stench would probably knock me out," Sammie teased, reaching up to ruffle his hair.

"Hur, hur, hur," James rolled his eyes. Pausing with one foot in the door, he turned around and hugged Sammie. Sammie looked surprised, but hugged him back. "Love you."

"I… I love you too, Munchkin," Sammie watched him go into the house with a puzzled but pleased expression before turning back to Derek. "Come on in, Der."

"Hey there… Hey! No stitches?"

"What? Oh, yeah. They were taken out this morning," she grinned. "It's gonna be a decent scar, but I don't think it'll be too bad. I'm planning a big story to explain it."

"Yeah? Any headway in that?" Derek hugged her shoulders and kissed her head before following her into the house.

"Well, my first thought was Vikings."

"A classic."

"I thought so, but, then, I thought about Ents."

"Like from _Lord of the Rings_. Nice. Nice. But how'd you wake the Ents?"

"I don't know yet, which is why I decided against Ents. Right now, I'm torn between the Vikings and saving kittens from the Whomping Willow."

"Go with the kittens. It's more valiant."

"That's what I was thinking."

"Is this all your stuff?" Derek stopped and stared at the mountain in the family room. "All this is going back to school?"

"Yup," Sammie nodded.

"You plan on fitting all this into your tiny little car?"

"No, Antonio's driving up with me. Marsi's oldest son–"

"I remember Antonio, Baby Girl," he smiled.

"Well, there's a lot of us," Sammie defended herself. "Sometimes, I don't even remember everyone."

Without much warning, she turned around and hugged him, wrapping her arms around his middle and burying her face in his chest. Derek's arms went to hold her instinctively. Neither moved for a while, Sammie's arms around his waist and Derek's around her shoulders.

"If it makes you feel any better, I can never remember the twins," Derek smiled into her hair after a bit.

"Felicita and Elena. Also Aunt Marsi's," Sammie whispered, her face still snuggled into his chest.

"Right, right… I'm not gonna remember that next time."

"Eh, makes life interesting. Oh. And I'm grounded until I die for not calling home and telling them where I was. Apparently, I'm not supposed to stay out all night with or without calling. Which I kind of knew. So I'm grounded. Until I die. Or until Mum stops threatening to send me to a convent in Italy."

"Makes life interesting. Am I in trouble?"

"Ha. You? In trouble with my family? No, you're not in trouble. You'd have to massacre half of Russia to be in trouble with my family."

Derek kissed the top of her head and they broke apart. That was all he allowed himself. Brief moments like that where he could hold her and dream about a universe where he could actually have her. And then the moment would pass and reality would set in again. Because he couldn't have her and he knew that.

"You hungry?"

"Nope. James and I went out already."

"Okay. Do you want marinara or three cheese?"

"I'm not hungry."

"Okay. But do you want marinara or three cheese?"

o o o o

"_For he loved her, as you can only love someone who is an echo of yourself at your time of deepest sorrow." – Orson Scott Card_

_

* * *

_

**A/N:**

******OHMYGOD****OHMYGOD****OHMYGOD****OHMYGOD****OHMYGOD**!

**So. Last Friday, I checked my e-mail and there was a message from ilovetvalot in my fanfiction inbox. Apparently, at least two crazy people nominated **_**Cracked Concrete **_**for "The Best Characterization of Derek Morgan" in the Profiler's Choice Criminal Minds 2010 Fanfic Awards. Hence, the "OHMYGODOHMYGOD" thing. I'm so CRAZY excited! I never thought anything I wrote would be nominated for anything. Ack! I can't wipe this goofy smile off my face! Ahhh! I need to find a way to contain my excitement. It's really not going well. I've been trying all weekend and I have yet to succeed in any way, shape or form. So, please, oh please, oh please, OH PLEEEEAAAASE vote for **_**Cracked Concrete**_**. (Yes, I was totally channeling Charlotte from Disney's _The Princess and the Frog_ right there). It's my pride and joy. I seriously love this story. The link to the rules and nomination ballot is on my profile. **

**The Reader's Digest version is you:**

** 1) have to have a valid fanfiction[dot]net account,**

**2) vote through private messages to "Profiler's Choice CM Awards",**

**3) ****copy the ballot and include ONLY your vote after each category,**

**4) final votes must be received by November 30, 2010 at 11:59 PM EST and**

**5) you may only vote once (1x) but you don't have to vote for every category.**

**So, THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU to whatever crazy people nominated this story because I love you like WHOAMYGOD. Also, being called crazy in my family is the highest honour. So that wasn't meant as mean. I love crazy people. I am a crazy people. But I think my A/Ns have already lead yall to that conclusion.**

**Bah. I have to go. I have a dentist appointment. At least I won't have any trouble keeping my mouth open in a big, fat smile today!**

**THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!**

**Love, Thalia**

**P.S. OHMYGOD****OHMYGOD****OHMYGOD****OHMYGOD****OHMYGOD****OHMYGOD**!


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.**

* * *

"_Friends are those rare people who ask how you are and then wait for the answer." – Author Unknown_

o o o o

21 February, 2000

The next month passed in a whirl of work, soccer scrimmages and games, writing tickets, meetings with the lawyer Sammie's family had hired to take Nick to court, phone calls, and hockey games. Before Derek realized it, it was February.

Glancing at the clock, he smiled when he read the time and nearly lunged towards the phone where it sat in its' charging cradle. He dialed a number from heart and lounged back against his pillow while he listened to the phone ringing. Eventually, the ringing gave way to voicemail and he hung up without leaving a message. Almost immediately after he put the phone back, it began ringing.

"Hello?"

_ "Hey, Derek! Sorry, I knocked my phone off and it fell between the wall and my contra alto case. And then I bashed my head against the wall and it all went downhill from there. How are you?" _

Her voice immediately made him smile. Talking to Sammie was always the best part of his day.

"Not as eventful as you, apparently," Derek rolled onto his side and punched the pillow a few times to smush it into the right position. "Went and watched James practice for a little while. Did laundry. Fixed the leaking sink in Mom's hall bath. Grocery shopping. Contra alto… that's the really big clarinet… the one that's taller than you, right?"

"_Errand day. Fun. And, no. That's the contrabass clarinet. It's six feet tall and beastly. Kinda fun, but boring too because you get, like, three notes every couple of bars. I like playing melodies or, at least, harmonies most of the time. Bass lines are boring, but contrabass looks good. No, the contra alto is about a foot shorter than I am. Only four and a half feet. It's a step down from the bass. Much prettier sound too," Sammie made a face and rubbed her head. "Ow. That really did hurt."_

"Smacking your head into the wall will do that. You should go get some ice."

"_That implies that my apartment __has__ ice, which is never a safe assumption. None of us ever refill the ice trays. I should start doing that."_

"Than you'll have ice for your head the next time you knock your phone between an instrument case and the wall."

"_Or at least for when I next want soda and it's not cold."_

"That works too."

"_I miss you."_

"I miss you too, Baby Girl. I saw you last weekend, though."

"_Well, I had to come home for James' games. And to deal with the lawyer and all that stuff," Sammie snuggled down into her blanket._

"I wasn't complaining. The lawyer seems to know what he's doing," Derek thought about the several times he had met the man. He would be called to testify during the trial in about a month and a half. "He's had me practice my cross-examination."

"_Practice?"_

"Yeah. Rephrasing the questions to try and mess me up."

"_And?"_

"And what?"

"_How's it going?"_

"Good. It's going to be fine, Angel. You don't have to worry."

"_I know. I just… I'm still scared. I have to sit up there and talk about e-everything while he's sitting there staring at me. I don't think I can do it."_

"You can, Sam. You'll be great. You know he can't hurt you, right? Not during the trial and not after. No one's going to let him near you ever again."

"_I kinda love you," she said, closing her eyes and relaxing. "I don't know what I'd do without you."_

"Love you too, Sammie," Derek smiled, liking the way it sounded from her lips even if she didn't mean it in the same way he did. "So what did you do today?"

"_I practiced until I lost feeling in my lips. And then I went outside and practiced cymbals. Now my hands are numb. And my nose. It's so cold."_

ooo ooo ooo ooo

23 February, 2000

"Mama, I think you're going to have to call an actual plumber for this one," Derek said from where he lay half in the cabinet under the sink. "You've got a leak in the pipe itself, not the connections."

"You can't fix it?"

"I can, but, personally, I'd go with the plumber. Hand me the duct tape? Thanks."

"What are you doing?" Fran asked, squatting down to try and see.

"I'm just taping it up until the plumber gets here. Which is your cue to call the plumber. If this pipe freezes, you're shit out of luck."

"Great," Fran sighed, too distracted to even say 'Language, Derek!' the way he expected her to.

Derek could hear her pull out the Yellow Pages and start flipping pages while he wrapped the silver tape around the rusted, old pipe several times. It wouldn't be a long-term fix, but it would hold for a day or two. Long enough.

This wasn't the first pipe to go in his mom's house and it wouldn't be the last. But it _was_ the first one to go during winter. Derek ripped the tape with his knife and tore it the rest of the way. Folding the corner over, he put the roll of tape down and smoothed his hands over the pipe to make sure the tape covered where needed.

"Hi, this is Fran Morgan. I have a leaking pipe under my kitchen sink…" Derek tuned out his mom as he eased himself out of the cabinet, bashing his elbow in the process. He cursed under his breath and sat up rubbing the twinging joint.

"So… nursing school?" Sarah dropped her bag on the kitchen floor and sank into a chair at the table. "My idea?"

"A hundred percent," Derek grinned, tossing his tools back into his toolbox and still gingerly massaging his elbow. Sarah, though two years older than Derek, had yet to leave their mother's house. She was in her last semester of nursing school and affording her own apartment with an unpaid internship and sixteen hours of school a week simply wasn't feasible, so she lived at home. Fran didn't mind having a few more years with Sarah; in fact, she sometimes teased Derek about moving back home.

"I changed my mind. I don't want to do it anymore," Sarah groaned and lay her head down on the table. "I'm going to sleep. Wake me next week."

"Yes, ma'am," Derek joked, standing up. "Do you want me to pour water down your back or shovel snow on your head?"

"Go die."

"Pass."

"I hate you," Sarah whimpered, pressing her hands over her ears.

"I hate you too."

"Hush!" Fran waved an arm at them and strained to hear the mumbling man on the other end of the line. "Tomorrow between eight and noon. Okay. Thank you. Great. Now I have to find someone who can stand around here waiting for four hours. Derek, are you working?"

"From six to six."

"Sarah?"

"Class at eleven. I can stay until ten thirty, but then you have to find someone else. Derek couldn't fix the sink?" Sarah's voice was muffled as she spoke but didn't raise her head from the table where it was pillowed by her arms.

"No," he shook his head. "The pipe needs to be completely replaced."

"Thank you for taping it up," Fran signed and leaned against the counter.

"Of course, Mama."

"What's for dinner, Mom?"

"Whatever doesn't require any clean up since we don't have a sink to clean up in. Pizza on paper plates."

"I want the Italian cheese and meats one that Derek brought over a couple weeks ago. That was so good," Desiree came bounding down the stairs. "Do we have any root beer?"

"In the fridge. Have you finished your homework?"

"Almost. European history and then I'm done. I can't wait for this year to be over. Then I get to go to college! Did any letters come today?" Desiree bent over and grabbed a bottle out of the fridge.

"Letters? Who would be writing you?" Derek teased.

"My college letters! How could you… you're teasing me. That's not nice."

"Well, I think I found one from Northern Illinois somewhere in this pile I fished out of the mailbox," Fran smiled.

"And here's one from Chicago State," Derek grinned, looking at a letter he grabbed of the top of the pile.

"Nothing from Aurora?" Desiree asked apprehensively.

"Not yet," Fran shook her head and handed her both the letters. "Go on. Open them up."

"Okay… Safety school number one," Desiree tore open the envelope from Chicago State. Pulling the wade of paper out, she read through quickly and looked up with a smile. "Gimme the other one!"

"I think that means she got in," Sarah laughed exhaustedly.

"That's a safe bet," Derek agreed."

"Yes!" Desiree started dancing around and waving her letters around in the air. "Three more safety school and Aurora where I really, really, _really_ want to go. The only school I actually want. I have to get in. Have to, have to get in."

"Whatever school you go to will be great," Fran assured her.

"But I _want_ Aurora. That's the only one I really want," Desiree said, popping the cap off her root beer.

"I know," Fran nodded, picking up the phone again and opening the cupboard to look at the sheet of numbers taped to the inside. Reading a number, she dialed the number to order pizza and closed the cabinet door.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

25 February, 2000

"Are you sure you left them over here?" Derek asked, looking around his apartment.

_"It's the only place they could be," James groaned. "I had them yesterday and they're not at my house or in either of my lockers."_

"I don't see them. Wait. Got 'em. Okay. I'll bring them over." Hanging up the phone and shoving it into his pocket, he grabbed the two foam-padded gloves. He took the royal blue Bulldog's Soccer t-shirt from where it lay slung over the back of the couch and tucked it along with the gloves into his backpack. He tugged on a jacket, a black and grey stripped beanie down to his eyebrows and over the tops of his ears, and a pair of leather gloves.

Derek grabbed his helmet and the backpack and headed out the door. Pausing outside the door, he reached into his pockets and rolled his eyes. Back inside, he grabbed the keys off the table. He locked the door and jogged down the concrete steps to the motorcycle his mom liked to call the Crotch Rocket Death Machine.

She wasn't a fan of the Kawasaki that Derek loved and was slowly paying off every month. Derek, however, loved the rush of speeding down the highway, weaving in and out of cars… there was nothing quite like it.

He turned into the Murdoch's cul-de-sac too fast for his taste. He was in the mood to drive for a while, but, instead, he parked the bike and walked up to the front door. James answered before he could even raise his hand to knock.

"You have my gloves?"

"Relax. They're right here," Derek laughed and handed him the backpack.

"Thank God. Sam came home and I forgot that they were missing and coach would have killed me," James spoke off-handedly as he trailed through the formal dinning room to the kitchen and unzipped his soccer bag. "'Specially 'cause Harris' gloves don't fit me. Plus, he has some weird fungus growing in his gloves."

"Sam's home?" Derek followed to the kitchen, trying to knock the image of fungi-gloves out of his head, and James nodded.

"She should be upstairs in her room. I have go or I'll be late. You should go say hi to her. See you at the game," James grabbed his soccer bag and waved at Derek as he ran out, the door slamming behind him. Derek turned and headed up the stairs in search of Sammie. He walked past the bonus room and a few white washed doors until he reached Sammie's and knocked briefly on the doorframe before he pushed the door open.

"Hey, Sammie-Girl. I heard you're ho – Sammie, what's going on?" Derek stopped when she turned away from where she sat on the floor by her dresser and knocked the lowest drawer closed. He watched her scramble frantically and realized he was seeing a part of her she kept locked away from everyone, including him. "Baby Girl, what's going on?"

"Nothing, I was just…" Sammie trailed off as she whipped her eyes and her mouth, refusing to meet his eyes. Crouching down, Derek sat next to her, waiting for her. "It's nothing."

"What's wrong, Baby?"

"Nothing," she whispered.

"You know I'm here," Derek said, holding out his hand and waiting for her to reach for his, but she just pulled tighter into herself. "Whatever's wrong, you can tell me."

"No, I can't," she sniffed before she could censor herself.

"Why not?"

"Because you won't like me anymore," Sammie said very quietly after several moments of hesitation.

"Baby Girl, nothing is going to make me not like you anymore."

"Double negative."

"What?"

"That's a double negative."

"I will always like you, Sammie, no matter what," Derek took her hands in his. "Who else is going to point out when my grammar's wrong or tell me more about music than I will ever remember? Who will I stay up for two hours on the phone with?"

"You're too nice to me," she said, looking at their hands.

"No, I'm not," he smiled. "Not a chance."

"I missed you."

"I missed you too," Derek reached out to dry her eyes. "What's going on, Angel? You don't have to do this all by yourself anymore, you know."

"I don't want to go back to school," she whispered.

"Why not?"

"I can't do it. All I want to do is cry. Or sleep. Or cry and sleep. And eat. And I don't want to do my work or go to class. When I practice, I'm not playing the pieces I should be – I'm playing the ones I love. Or I'm practicing cymbals. Everything's falling apart. And then I think about Nick and everything gets even worse," Sammie starting crying and Derek scooted close to her, wrapping her up and letting her cry.

"It's okay, Princess. It's going to be okay."

"I want my daddy to come fix everything…"

"I know," he whispered. "You want him to do what dad's are supposed to do. He's supposed to make it all better. Dads are supposed to save you, protect you and take away your pain. Sammie, Baby Girl, he can't hurt you anymore. Dads aren't supposed to hurt their kids and he's not going to hurt you again."

"Why wasn't I enough?" Sammie felt safe with Derek. She didn't know why, but, when she was with him, the world was safe again. No one could hurt her when he was there. And she could tell him everything, anything. He wouldn't mock her or devalue what she said or felt. She trusted him. He made her feel important and loved and _safe_. He was her safe haven. She hadn't felt safe in years. He was in the only thing in her life that made sense anymore.

"I don't know," he pressed a kiss into her hair and hugged her tightly. Leaning a cheek against the top of her head, he spotted a blue wrapper partially sticking out of the bottom dresser drawer. It was part of the wrapper for a tray of Oreo cookies. She had scrambled to hide the cookies when he came in. Closing his eyes, his heart sank and he squeezed her even more. "But it was his loss."

"Thank you," she sniffed a while later.

"For what?" Derek asked, confused.

"Always being there, even when you don't have to be."

"I'm always going to be here," he told her seriously.

"You're my best friend," she leaned against him more and he smiled.

"Not Keira?"

"I love Keira, but she expects me to be as tough as she is and I can't do that. I'm not that thick-skinned. I'm not as strong as she is."

"You are quite possibly the strongest person I know, Sam. Look at everything you've been through, everything you're going through… It takes a very strong person to do all this."

"I don't feel strong."

"You are. You're a lot stronger than you think you are."

"I wish it were the end of May already. I want corps to start up again. Officially start up, I mean."

"It'll be here before you realize it."

"Yeah… I miss it," Sammie closed her eyes.

"I'm gonna miss you when you're busing it all over the country," Derek teased, kissing her cheek.

"I'll miss you too, Der. You'll come watch when we're close to Chicago, right?"

"For sure. I can't wait to see you bust out on those cymbals."

"Dunno… I'm thinking about auditioning for drum majour. Wearing that black uniform would be so amazing, but, on the other hand, I love marching so much. Especially marching cymbals with those four guys."

"That Viper thing made me nervous when I saw the video," Derek admitted, thinking of the cymbal visual she'd shown him a video of over her winter break. "I'm still not convinced one of you isn't going to have their throats sliced open. And I don't want it to be you, Baby Girl."

"We're very careful when we practice Viper. The five of us have been together for the past two years. Cymbal line hasn't changed. We're really careful. No one's been hurt yet. In the entire history of the corps. Thirty-three years and not a single Viper-related injury."

"You're swinging sharp, round blades at each other's heads and legs!" Derek protested, pulling away to look at her.

"We don't practice with the actual cymbals until we're sure we're ready. We do the routine with plastic disks first and then do our moves alone with the cymbals to get the weight down and _then_ we practice as a team with the cymbals. We're safe."

"Still makes me nervous," he shook his head, stood up and pulled her up after him now that he was sure she was smiling again.

"It makes me happy. I love music. It's gotten me through everything."

"It loves you back. You, Baby Girl, are very talented. C'mon. We should go and get good seats for James' game. So, why didn't you tell me you were coming home?" Derek followed her down the stairs.

"Surprise. I didn't know I was coming home either until about six hours ago. I just missed home too much, everything was too much so I packed up Crookshanks and we came home."

"Where _is_ the cat? I haven't seen him."

"Oh, he's mad at me. He doesn't like the drive or his crate. So he's hiding under my bed and refuses to come out. Where are you going? My car's in the garage."

"I know. We're going to take my bike."

"What?"

"I gave you a helmet for Christmas and you haven't used it once. C'mon, Angel. Go get the helmet and let's go."

"I… I don't…"

"You'll love it, Baby Girl."

"I dunno… It's kind of scary. Is it safe?"

"I'll keep you safe. I always do – always will."

Sammie looked nervous, but went back upstairs and returned with the dark green helmet. She locked the front door after them, following him to the bike. Skeptically, she got on after him and pulled the helmet on. Derek smiled happily when she locked her arms around his waist and pressed closed to his back. She squeezed when he revved the engine up.

"Hold on tight, Angel."

o o o o

"_Suffering is the price of being alive, and it is music and singing and art that has helped me live through some of the most difficult things that have happened to me." – Judy Collins

* * *

_

**A/N:**

**So, I went home last weekend to see LB and BB#2, BB#3, and BB#4 play football against my least favourite school in our district. Their mascot is a mustang, but I call them the ponies. I hate them. It was SUCH a great game. We DESTROYED them. DESTORYED THEM. Dead. It was 52-0 at halftime. HALFTIME. The first string sat out the ENTIRE second half and I got to watch my boys play. LB kicked three FGs and a kick-off. It was amazing. Ohhhh AND he kicked the school record setting FG too! The previous record for most points in one game was 65 and it's now 66. And LB kicked that field goal! I'm so ridiculously proud. I got pics of the four of them. Oh man. It was the best day in a long time for the Gratiae family. I just really wish Grampa had been around to see it. He would have loved watching LB and his Bonus Grandboys out there. I bet he was up in Heaven with Grama shouting and cheering like a crazy man.**

**Anyways, Thank you so much for reading! I hope you liked it and, please, tell me what you think - good or bad!**

**Love, Thalia**


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.**

* * *

"_We are, each of us angels with only one wing; and we can only fly by embracing one another." – Luciano de Crescenzo_

o o o o

19 March, 2000

Derek had never been to a concert. Scratch that – he had been to some really terrible hip-hop wannabe's concert when the second girl his senior year at Northwestern had dragged him along with her and he'd been to some other one that he really couldn't remember, but he couldn't remember much of that night and, upon more thoughtful consideration, probably didn't want to and he went to the church's Christmas concert every Christmas with his mom and sisters.

But this was different. This was his first classical music concert, concert of classical music… he wasn't really sure what its proper title was or if it even had a proper title. The University of Illinois' Wind Symphony had a concert this afternoon, so he was currently sitting astride his bike and speeding down I-Fifty-Seven towards Champaign.

He had missed the Wind Symphony's first concert of the semester because of work and he was looking forward to seeing Sammie play now. Today would be the first time he saw her play her clarinet; he'd listened to CDs of her play, seen her play the piano and listened to her sing, but he really wanted to see her with her clarinet.

Derek knew he was getting in over his head in regards to Sammie. She consistently found a place in every part of his life and she wasn't even aware of it. He had learned to be carful with what he said around his mom, not that that stopped Fran from voicing her concern over how involved he was becoming not only with Sammie but with James as well. Derek knew his mom didn't approve, but they were important to him. They needed him and… and he needed them.

Merging onto the off ramp of I-Fifty-Seven, Derek slowed down reluctantly as the speed limit changed. Within the next ten minutes, he was figuring out his way onto the campus. He'd been before when Sarah did her undergrad here, but that had been years ago and he hadn't been driving so he didn't really remember.

The concert started in an hour and a half and he needed to find something to drink. Opening the compartment under the seat of his bike, he pulled out his tattered copy of _Speaker for the Dead_ and tucked it into his back pocket. Derek locked the compartment, took the folded up map of the campus he'd stolen from on of Sarah's old boxes of school things – the girl never threw anything away – and started to figure out where he was and where he was going.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

Derek's coffee cup was long empty now, but he didn't notice. He sat in the Krannert Center for the Performing Arts, more specifically in Intermezzo Café, where a lot of other people were now sitting and drinking or eating while they waited for Foellinger Great Hall to open. He was so engrossed in _Speaker_ that he didn't really notice anything around him. He had read the Ender series so many times that he knew what would happen next, but that never stopped him from reading them again.

He jolted at a tap on his shoulder and turned around to see James staring at him with his eyebrows raised.

"What are you doing here?" James asked.

"Sam has a concert," Derek gave the obvious answer.

"Well, I know that. What are you doing here?"

"I came to see the concert," Derek stared at James trying to figure out why James was asking a question he already knew the answer to. Why else would Derek be sitting in a university performing arts building a little over a hundred miles from where he lived?

"You didn't tell anyone you were coming."

"I didn't realize I needed permission."

"You don't need permission."

"Then why are you interrogating me?"

"Why didn't you tell any of us?"

"I wanted to surprise Sammie and, if I told you all, somewhere along the lines the secret part would have been left out and someone would have told Sammie not knowing I wanted to surprise her."

James was silent for a minute before shrugging. "Probably."

"What 'probably'?" Derek smiled and James shrugged again. "We're cool?"

"We'd been cooler if you let me ride with you instead of crammed in the SUV with Mum, Gran, Gramps, Uncle Rodrigo, Roberto and Gia."

"I wouldn't have taken you on the back of my bike, James. It's not safe."

"You do it all the time."

"Not on the highway and not for two and a half hours." James scowled and Derek just mimicked one of James' shrugs. "Sorry, kid."

"You're at least going to sit with us, right?"

ooo ooo ooo ooo

George leaned heavily on Derek and Rodrigo as they slowly sidestepped down the isle to the center of the row. Marsala had tried to get George to sit in on of the wheelchair accessible seats, but that request had been flatly refused.

"Marsala! I want to sit in the center. That's where the best seats are. I don't want to sit close to the wall so one instrument is louder than the rest of them. I want to sit in the center and hear it properly!"

So they were carefully helping him to the center where the best seats were while Marsala and Andria hovered apprehensively.

"_Papa_, be careful," Andria begged anxiously while, over by the wall, James and Gia folded their grandfather's wheelchair and leaned it against the wall and out of the way before returning to their group. The seventeen-year-old Roberto stood in the isle behind George, Derek and Rodrigo, shadowing exactly where his grandfather was to help him back when it was time to sit.

Derek was tired and winded by the time George was safely seated exactly in the center like he wanted to be. Radiation might be physically and mentally weakening George, but it had done nothing to weaken the genetic stubborn trait that seemed to be present in every member of the Campaniello family.

"She just has no push," Marsala was saying to Andria as Derek sat next to James and opened his program for the first time.

"Yes, _Mamma_, because that's exactly what this family needs: more pushy people," Andria rolled her eyes and focused on her own program. Derek looked to James for an explanation.

"Antonio brought a girl to the restaurant last night."

Ah… Derek has to agree with Andria on that one – the last thing the Campaniellos needed was one more pushy person, female or otherwise.

The lights started to dim before Derek had truly gotten a chance to read the program and he closed it in resignation when the lights dimmed so low he couldn't read anything of the words and the curtain started to rise. There were more people on stage than he had expected, but he immediately found Sammie sitting in the first row, three chairs in from the end of the row.

A man in a tails stepped off the podium and walked over to a microphone on the left side of the stage. After the feedback of turning on the microphone subsided, he pulled it from it's stand and greeted everyone.

"Good afternoon and welcome to Illinois Wind Symphony's second concert of the semester. I'm so glad you've chosen to spend some of your Sunday afternoon here to see the culmination of these amazing musician's hard work and, I promise you, you will not regret it. At this time, I'd like to ask those of you with cell phones or pagers to please turn them off and to keep them off for the duration of today's performance. I'll never get used to saying that! We used to just say 'please don't talk,' but now we have to make sure your machines don't talk either."

There was a smattering of semi-awkward laughter at what was obviously supposed to be a joke before the conductor continued.

"On the program, you'll see that this concert is entitled 'Season of Dance' and that's precisely what you'll get today. We'll be performing David R. Holsinger's 'Children's Dances' suite, which includes three pieces composed and named for his three children, Nilesdance, Havendance and Graysondance. Then Brian Balmages' Summer Dances, John Barnes Chance's Incantation and Dance, Chorale and Shaker Dance by John Zdechlik and we will conclude with my own personal favourite Anthony Suter's Dancing at Stonehenge.

"We ask that you, please, hold your applause until I have stepped off the podium. We are recording today's concert and we want to ensure we have the best quality recording. Thank you. So, without further delay, the University of Illinois is proud to present the Illinois Wind Symphony!"

The audience applauded while the longwinded conductor finally turned off the microphone, put it back in its stand and returned to his podium. He stood beside the podium and spoke to the students quietly for a moment before stepping up onto the platform. As soon as his feet hit the podium, the student's posture changed. Instruments were held more securely and backs were straight, they sat on the edge of their seat instead of leaning against the backrest and all eyes were on the conductor.

Derek's eyes never left Sammie so the blast of trumpet that filled the entire hall with the beginning of Nilesdance surprised him for a moment. Sammie's clarinet was still down and he smiled the second she raised the instrument. When the piece ended and the conductor stepped down, raised his arm to gesture to the band and a few students who had had solos stood, Derek clapped with everyone else, still watching Sammie while she moved music on her stand to find the next piece.

By the time the came to the seventh and final piece, Gia was fidgety. They'd been sitting for over an hour and a half, which was an eternity to a six-year-old. Derek smiled even wider when Sammie was the only clarinet player to pick up her instrument at the beginning of the piece. Percussion played a few notes solo before Sammie came in with a flirty melody.

When the piece ended and the soloists stood, Derek clapped louder than he had for any of the other pieces. After a minute or so, the rest of the band stood as well and the conductor bowed before taking the microphone once more and thanking everyone for coming.

Their party waited while everyone else left before beginning the process of getting George back out of the audience seating and into his wheelchair, which proved to be no less tiring than getting him into the audience had been. By the time they exited the hall, Sammie was waiting for them in jeans and a black _Scarface_ t-shirt, holding a garment bag in one hand and a clarinet case and folder in the other. Derek hung back while she put her stuff down and greeted her family, smiling and laughing and blushing at their praise. It took a good ten minutes before she spotted him leaning against the wall and waiting.

"Derek!" Sammie ran towards him with a wide smile plastered across her face. Derek caught her easily. "Oh my God, what are you doing here?"

"I came to see you, silly. What is it with this family and asking questions they already know the answer to?" Derek started to pull away, but Sammie shook her head and squeezed.

"Not yet."

"Okay."

"Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

"I haven't seen you in three weeks since you went to Santa Clara over your spring break. I wanted to surprise you."

"I missed you," she whispered.

"Backatchya, Princess."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

"You were amazing," Derek repeated for the thousandth time as they settled onto the couch while the beginning of the original _Pyscho_ began playing out on the television. Sammie's family had left a while ago, but Derek stayed to spend some time with Sammie.

"Thank you," Sammie smiled and pushed herself up off the couch. "You want something to drink? I'm really thirsty."

"Sure."

"Sam! Are you home?" a girl's voice called out as the apartment's door opened and shut.

"Yeah."

A brunette rounded the corner and stopped when she saw Derek sitting on the couch. He pointed to the kitchen and she nodded. He turned his attention to the screen again and tried not to listen to the two girls in the kitchen area.

"Oh my God, he's gorgeous," the girl said in a hush tone.

"What?" Sammie looked up from the two cans of soda she emptied into glasses holding a few cubes of ice.

"Your boyfriend, Nick. He's gorgeous. You didn't tell me how gorgeous he was."

"Nick isn't my boyfriend, Vanessa," Sammie shook her head.

"What? Why not? He's gorgeous. If he's not yours, can I have him?" Vanessa peered over the counter to where Derek sat.

"Him? That's not Nick."

"Then who is it?"

"That's Derek."

"Is he yours?"

"Well, no," Sammie shook her head slowly. "He's not _mine_."

"Is he single?"

"I… I'm not sure."

Vanessa stopped and turned to look at her roommate. After a few second, she smiled, "You want him to be yours, doesn't you?"

"No!" Sammie protested in a whisper. "It's not like that."

"Yes, it is," Vanessa whispered back. "It's exactly like that."

"Stop, Vanessa. Please. He'll hear you," Sammie glanced worriedly over the counter.

"You really like him."

"Yes, okay? But he doesn't think of me like that. So just stop."

"He's from Chicago, right? Like you?"

"Yeah, so?"

"So, he drove all the way from Chicago to see you. Two and a half hours. He thinks of you that way."

"No, he doesn't. He thinks of me as a little sister."

"Okay," Vanessa shook her head. "Whatever you say. I have an O-Chem test tomorrow, so I'm out."

Sammie carried the drinks back into the couch and handed one to Derek while Vanessa carted her backpack back to her bedroom.

"That was my roommate," she explained awkwardly. "Vanessa."

"I assumed. Otherwise, she has very good lock picking abilities and you don't mind if people break into your apartment," Derek teased her. Sammie stuck her tongue out at him and turned her attention to Janet Leigh onscreen. "How can you like horror movies?"

"What do you mean?"

"You love horror movies."

"I know."

"But you're afraid of thunderstorms."

"I don't see the connection," Sammie raised her eyebrows and starred at him while taking a sip of her soda.

"It starts thundering and you freak out, but you're fine with people being hacked to death."

"Well… movies are all fake. It's not real. No one really gets hurt in the movies," Sammie said and Derek rolled his eyes. The two feel silent and watched the movie. Derek was watching Sammie more than watching the movie and, when she started to fall asleep during the third movie, he took her plate and put it on the coffee table. He balked at first when she leaned against him.

"Love you," she whispered into his shirt sleepily and Derek melted.

"Love you, Angel," he whispered back, kissing the top of her head and cuddling her close. He shouldn't be doing this. He should _not_ be holding her like this, but she was happy and comfortable and that's what mattered. It was all that mattered.

o o o o

"_Love is when the other person's happiness is more important than your own." – H. Jackson Brown, Jr._

_

* * *

_

**A/N:**

**HOOOOLA! I've had a Monster and nothing else. Well, I had a few SunChips, but other than that nothing. I'm so hungry. And really hyper. Aunt Numero Cinco and I are driving home, well, technically, _I'm_ driving home and ANC is driving with me to visit my home. And to pick up the patio furniture we're giving her because - drum roll please... WE SOLD OUR HOUSE! Good and bad. I'm really glad because we _really_ have to move because we can't afford that house without Daddy, but also really sad because I've lived there since April 1996 and I don't wanna leave my room and my really epic backyard and the neighbours and all that. So, I'm saglad. Haha! Can you tell how hyper I am? Because I'm really, REALLY hyper.**

**Guess what, guess what, guess what? I was asked to be interviewed in the fanfiction forum "Chit Chat on Author's Corner!" So cool. XD Silly fanfiction doesn't like letting us put website addresses in here, so the link is on my profile. I felt like a celebrity. Hahaha My little fifteen nano seconds of fame. **

**HARRY POTTER COMES OUT IN T-15 days! AAAAAAHHHH! I love Harry Potter. Seriously, hardcore LOVE Harry Potter.**

**Um, let's see... What else? Oh. The music mentioned are real compositions and they're really good. Especially the Children's Dance suite. If you're curious and want to listen to them, send me a message. Ummm... Oh. The Ender's series is also a real series by Orson Scott Card. There's six books. Personally, I prefer the parallel Shadow series to the Ender's series, but that's just me. I even named my two fish after two of the Battle School's armies that show up in _Ender's Game _and _Ender's Shadow_ - Dragon and Rabbit. I'm a nerd, I know. Tell me something I don't know. haha.**

**Anyways. I have to go and pick up ANC and start driving all the way home. Thanks for reading and tell me what you think - good or bad!**

**Love, Thalia**


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.**

* * *

"_Any ordeal that you can survive as a human being is an improvement in your character and, usually, an improvement in your life." – Viggo Mortensen_

o o o o

30 March, 2000

Derek worked and reworked the dark green tie around his neck. Groaning, he pulled it off again and started over. He could never get his ties quite right. He wasn't really sure why, but no matter how often he wore a tie he had to tie it several times before he got it right. It didn't help that his hands wouldn't stop their barely noticeable shaking.

The trial started today. He probably wouldn't be called to testify today or even tomorrow or the day after that, but, at the request of Nick Farese's lawyer, he and the rest of the witnesses were being sequestered with the trial was happening. Not being allowed to be in the courtroom was driving him out of his mind. He hated the thought that he would be sitting, painfully unaware of what was going on. Everything would be unfolding in the courtroom while he was forced to sit helplessly in a room while some judicial intern babysat him.

With a last look in the mirror, he donned his jacket and walked out of his apartment without giving himself another second to think.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

"Derek," Sammie was visibly shaking by the time Derek walked into the courthouse.

"Hey, Angel," Derek offered a small, sad smile and wrapped his arms around her shoulders as soon as she stood within his reach. "You're going to be okay," he whispered in her ear, acutely aware that every member of her family watched with eyes sharper than a knife.

"I can't do this."

"Yes, you can. You can do this. You're stronger than he is, Baby Girl," he kept whispering in her ear. "He can't hurt you. Don't forget that. And don't forget that I love you crazy amounts."

"I love you too," she whispered back, taking a deep breath and pulling back. "Thank you."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

It was hard for Derek not tap his foot anxiously on the tile floor. He hated not knowing. He hated being left completely in the dark. He hated feeling helpless.

And, right now, sitting in this tiny room with nine other people, far away from Sammie and, yet, as close as he was allowed to be. She was scared and he was stuck here. She was doing something she was only doing because he pushed her into doing it and he wasn't there to hold her hand. He shouldn't have pushed her. He knew that pressing charges was the right thing to do, but he shouldn't have pushed her into doing something she didn't want to do.

He felt helpless.

He _hated_ feeling helpless.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

Derek was exhausted by the time the court broke for lunch and all he'd done was sit in a chair and occasionally contribute to the mindless chitchat the witnesses were sharing. He spent most of the time sitting silently next to Keira, staring at his shoes and tapping his fingers against his knees.

"How's it going?" Derek asked Sammie's Uncle Rodrigo as soon as he saw him.

"I think it's going well. He plead not guilty to the rape and to attempted murder, but guilty to battery."

"I figured he would. What's happened?"

"The judge spoke to the jury for over an hour telling them what they were supposed to do and how they were supposed to do it. Honestly, I was getting a little annoyed that they were doing this during the trial and wasting time, but Samantha seemed to calm down more, so I guess it was worth it. Um… They both made opening statements. One of the jurors was in tears by the time Jos finished. "

"Is Sam okay?"

"Probably not, but she's hiding it well," Rodrigo's dark eyes would have looked harsh and uncaring to Derek five months ago, but now he knew differently.

"Derek." Turning at the sound of his name, he saw James hurrying towards him. James, though he looked like an adult in his dark suit and tie with his hair combed neatly for the first time since Tom's funeral, hugged Derek like a kid who'd fallen off his bike and needed his big brother to reassure him that everything was okay. "She's scared."

"I know. It's going to be okay. She's going to be fine. _You're_ going to be fine."

"I wanna kill him."

"I know. I do too."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

The door opened and Keira walked back into the room. At the clerk's gesturing, Carlos, the police officer who'd been at the hospital, followed the clerk out the door Keira had just entered through. Looking up, Derek nodded in greeting.

"Oh my God, I never want to do that again," Keira collapsed into the chair next to him.

"Bad?"

"Terrifying," Keira leaned her head back. "I think I did well, but I thought Meemaw could hear my heart beat out of my chest all the way in Oklahoma. Oh my God. I felt like I was gonna throw up right there on that ass' lawyer."

Derek laughed. He couldn't help it; the image was too funny. Nick's father, who sat in the corner and was the only witness for the defense, made an annoyed sound and Keira flushed but didn't make any move to apologize or retract anything she'd said.

"I'm glad you didn't throw up," Derek smiled. "I don't think we have any toothbrushes and no one likes that aftertaste."

"It's the worst. Even worse that drinking orange juice after brushing your teeth. I had this awful flu over Thanksgiving and, oh God, it was awful. You don't' wanna know. Worst week of my life."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

Sammie lay curled up on Derek's couch several hours after the court had adjourned for the day. They'd had dinner with Sammie's family at George and Marsala's home. George was fading and quickly. It was getting harder and harder to get George out of the house and the restaurant wasn't an easy place to maneuver George. Ponsiglione's wasn't completely wheelchair friendly.

After dinner, Sammie asked if she could come over and watch a movie with him. Derek hadn't thought twice before saying yes. So now she laid falling sleep on his couch watching Sammie's favourite Disney movie, _Sleeping Beauty_. Derek sat on the floor leaning back against the couch, his head turned slightly so he was actually watching Sammie rather than the movie. It wasn't that he disliked the movie – he had two sisters. He had a whole résumé of experience with princess movies. Derek was more preoccupied with his own sleeping beauty to watch the one singing and dancing with an owl onscreen.

She was crying. Silently and trying to pretend that she wasn't. When Derek couldn't take her tears anymore, he carefully pulled her and the blanket she was snuggled under off the couch and onto the floor next to him.

"It's okay to cry," he told her, kissing her temple. "Go ahead and cry, Baby Girl. I've gotchya."

"You're too good to me," she sniffed, wiping her eyes on the corner of the blanket.

"No, Princess. No one could possibly be too good to you. You deserve to be treated like a princess and someday I'll convince you of that," Derek smoothed down her hair and held her as close as she wanted. He loved and hated these moments. Loved them because he got to hold her for a few moments and pretend to himself that he could hold her like this forever. Hated them because the girl he'd fallen in love with was in pain and he couldn't do anything to fix it. "You even look like a princess."

Sammie raised her head and looked at him skeptically, a bemused smile on her face.

"I'm serious," Derek shook his head and pointed at the screen. "You look like Aurora. You have the blonde hair and it sorta curls at the end. Kind of. And both of you have pretty brown eyes. I like yours better though. And you both make beautiful music."

"I'm not skinny enough."

"You're perfect," he insisted and kissed her forehead again. Sammie smiled a little and leaned against him, turning back to watch the movie again.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

31 March, 2010

The first thing that permeated Sammie's consciousness was the iron grip around her waist that effectively chained her in place. Her head wasn't cushioned by the fluffy pillow she usually had difficulty dragging herself away from. No, her head was snuggled against something far firmer and very warm. A heartbeat echoed beneath her cheek and she unconsciously nestled more comfortably against the source of warmth.

Nick was holding her, she reasoned before squeezing her eyes shut when her memory starting floating back. Nick wasn't holding her. Nick was in a cell. She kept her eyes squeezed firmly shut and tried to shove Nick from her mind. She shouldn't have pressed charges. He loved her and she loved him. He hadn't meant to hurt her. He never meant to hurt her.

Sammie clung to the warm as a flood of apologies, excuses and explanations assaulted her.

_"God, Sam. I'm so sorry; I didn't mean to."_

_ "If you'd been ready, I wouldn't have gotten angry. Be on time next time."_

_ "I'm sorry. But this wouldn't have happened if…"_

_ "I'll never hurt you again, Sam."_

_ "It was just a little slap. You don't need to treat me like a monster."_

_ "Stop looking at me like that. You never said 'no.'"_

Sammie whimpered and the iron grip around her waist tightened. Pressing even closer into the warmth, Sammie breathed deeply and tried to relax. The smell of Derek's aftershave and sweat filled her nose and she smiled sleepily. She was dreaming. If she was sleeping next to Derek, she was having one of those dreams again. One of the romance novel dreams where she wore a fancy, old-fashioned dress and he was some English duke-to-be and the only heir to the title. He'd see her in danger and rush to save her, putting them both in the position where he would be required to marry her and they'd eventually fall in love despite themselves.

She liked these dreams.

She liked feeling like the princess. Especially when Derek was her prince.

Contentedly, she snuggled down and pulled the fancy comforter over her, waiting for the maid to come knock on the door to wake Lord Morgan. But the bed wasn't very comfortable today. And Derek was wearing a shirt; she could feel it under her cheek. Derek never wore a shirt in these dreams. Sammie wrinkled her nose and cracked an eye open just enough to see.

Oh God. Blinking her eyes open completely, she quickly realized they were lying on the floor of Derek's living room with the blanket covering them and the television making a fuzzy sound and snow played on it's screen. She tilted her head slightly to see Derek's face, still not completely sure she wasn't dreaming. Sammie tried to pinch herself, but when she moved to raise her hand his arm moved to hold her more securely, effectively restraining her arm. She really wasn't dreaming.

Derek moved a little before settling back and breathing deeply. Sammie looked at the clock on the VCR. Five in the morning. Her mum was going to be worried when she realized Sammie hadn't come home. James was going to school today instead of the trial. They'd be up soon to get James to school and realize she hadn't come home.

"Derek," Sammie shook him. Derek groaned and threw his other arm up over his eyes. "Derek, wake up."

"Go back to sleep, Sammie. Please, Angel. You know I love you, but please go back to sleep. It can't be time to get up," Derek kissed her hair, keeping his eyes covered, before jerking and releasing her. "Sam!"

"I'm sorry."

"For what?" Derek asked, scrubbing the sleep from his eyes. "You didn't do anything, so don't apologize. Shit. What time is it?"

"Five oh three."

"Andria's gonna _kill_ me."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

The day was exhausting. Again, Derek spent the entire day in a small room in an uncomfortable chair while he waited to possibly be called in to testify, though he knew he wouldn't be called into the courtroom until Monday. As the prosecution, Sammie's lawyer Jos Berlusconi picked the order of the witnesses and he'd already told them the order. Except for Sammie, Derek was last to take the stand.

Jos thought Derek had the strongest, most emotional testimony and he wanted his testimony to be the last one the jury heard. On one had, the fact that Jos was confident was extremely good. Jos wasn't one to pull punches. He was the younger brother of the pastor at the Campaniello's church and he'd been almost painfully honest with them even before he'd been hired. He knew what he was doing saving Derek for last. On the other hand, that meant he was stuck in this room until the very end.

Technically, all the witnesses were stuck until the end, something the doctor and nurse who'd taken care of Sammie had already started complaining about. If they couldn't work, they were losing money. Mark and Carlos were more relaxed about it – the police department knew police officers being sequestered was a distinct possibility and neither of them had anything to loose. Keira was working on some paper for school, but she didn't seem to be having much luck getting anything accomplished and Derek was sure her mind, like his, was in the courtroom with Sammie. Derek's neighbour Terrance was an editor at some publishing firm and he hadn't looked up from the thick stack of paper, merely filled each page with red ink before flipping to the next one. Mr. Farese was a very unpleasant person and Derek knew where Nick had inherited his personality and, most likely, his physical treatment of women. The domestic abuse specialist, some fancy psychologist named Liu, sat in the corner reading the latest Stephen King novel.

Derek would need some coffee soon. He had to work tonight and, by the time he got home, he'd have been awake for over twenty-four hours. He was going to be unbelievably tired.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

1 April, 2000

"Sammie, Baby Girl, why are you up at three in the morning?" Derek asked as he flipped his phone open and pulled over on the side of the road. "Are you okay? You seemed okay when I left."

"Derek," Sammie's voice was quiet and Derek stilled.

"What's wrong, Angel?"

"Gramps is gone, Derek. Grama went in to wake him up for his medicine and he was… he wasn't–"

"Oh God, Sammie, I'll be over as soon as I get off of work. I get off at six. Three hours and I'll be there."

"No, Derek, you don't have to come. I just wanted to let you know."

"Sam, I'll be there as soon as I get off of work."

o o o o

"_There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are messengers of overwhelming grief… and unspeakable love." – Washington Irving_

_

* * *

_

**A/N:**

******LB and the BB's had their last in-district game last Saturday and it was bad. It was really, really bad. Both teams were undefeated and everyone was expecting this clash of the titans sort of game. Each team is considered a possible state champ contender this year, they're both ranked in the top ten Texas teams. The game was completely sold out on both sides. I mean, standing-room-only sold out. I had to get there at 8:30 (for an 11 o'clock game) just to make sure Mum and I got good seats. The past three years, this game has been THE game of the Texas high school football season. Televised, reporters everywhere, live streaming on the internet... you'd seriously think it was pro football. It's insane. And we just rolled over! It was a disaster. They KILLED us. 56 to 3. FIFTY-SIX TO THREE! Okay. I can't talk about this anymore. Both teams are in division one play-offs, so we just have to regroup and get back on the ball. It's been almost a week and I'm still upset by this. I'm ridiculous.**

******I'm also majorly conflicted because the Maple Leafs play the Canucks on Saturday. MY TEAMS ARE PLAYING EACHOTHER. I hate it when that happens. I never know what to do. I usually drive myself berserk during these games. On one hand - I love the Canucks and they're on a complete winning streak. But, on the other, the Leafs are the Original Six team and the team Dad and I watched together and, did I mention, I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO!**

******I'm currently watching Finding Nemo. Just wanted to share. My Aunt Numero Uno and I are going to go see HP7.1 at midnight in... IMAX! I can't wait. I'm crazy excited. My aunt is too cool. She's just too cool for school.**

******I'm going home today (yes, for the second weekend in a row) partially to see LB and the BB's in their first (and, please dear God) not their last playoff game on Saturday. I'm a nervous reck. Between the hockey and the playoffs, I'll probably drive myself to the loony bin. If you never hear from me again, it's probably because I've been institutionalized.**

******Thanks so much for reading and, please, tell me what you think - good or bad!**

******Love, Thalia**


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.**

* * *

"_If our vocabulary did not contain the words trouble, adversity, calamity and grief, it could not contain the words, bravery, patience and self-sacrifice. Those who face no calamity will need no courage. Mysterious though it is, the human characteristics we admire most grow in a soil with a strong mixture of trouble." – Dale Turner_

o o o o

2 April, 2000

"Come here, Sam. You're going to freeze to death." Derek tugged off his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders. The smell of an impending frost hung in the air and the temperature dropped steadily. It was as if even the weather had realized that a great deal of good had just been taken from the world and didn't know what else to do but become colder than it had been in a month. Even with the cold, walking out here alone with Sammie was pleasant. The atmosphere in the restaurant had been mixed and confused, ranging from sobbing to the retelling of various stories about George. The still quietness of the outdoors was nice.

"It doesn't feel like he's gone," Sammie pulled the coat tighter. "I mean… I knew he was sick and I knew he was dying, but I never thought he'd actually die. He's always been so… so invincible."

Derek didn't say anything, just walked quietly next to her as she wandered aimlessly. He'd been amazed at how quickly George's funeral had been planned. It hadn't even been forty-eight hours and, already, George had been cremated and the huge Catholic church had been filled past capacity as Father Berlusconi preformed the funeral mass.

"I feel like a terrible person."

"Why?"

"I haven't cried. Not once. I mean, my Gramps died and I haven't cried at all," Sammie bit her lip and Derek shook his head.

"You're not a terrible person."

"Part of me's relieved he's gone," she admitted in a shameful whisper. "He was in so much pain. And now he's not hurting anymore."

"This will hit you," Derek told her, reaching out to tuck her blonde hair away from her face so he could see her eyes. "This will hit you and I'll be here when it does."

"You'll be here?"

"Always."

"Always, always?"

"Always, always," he laughed.

"What if I rob a bank? Will you still be there?"

"Technically. I'll be the one in the car with the sirens chasing you."

"Rats. What if I… what if I chain myself to some building their going to tear down as a protest? You'll be chained there next to me?"

"No. I'll be the one with the bolt cutters because I refuse to let you be flatted by a bulldozer."

"Hmmm… what if I become a hermit and shave my head and go completely crazy? Will you still be there then?"

"I'll even shave my head too."

"You know, these past months you've really been like this gorgeous, perfect knight in shining armour that just rushed in to save me," Sammie's voice was soft and thoughtful as she snuggled into his coat. "It's been like I've been living in a fairy tale and somehow I became the princess. All these terrible things keep happening, but, if I wait a second and turn the page, the knight comes riding in on his horse to save me, to make it better."

"I'm not a knight in shining armour, Baby Doll. I'm just your best friend."

"Aren't they kinda, I dunno, conducive to each other?" Sammie smiled up at him and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, tucking her close to his side. "I just don't know what I did to become the princess."

"You're a romantic goofball, ya know that, Sam? You read way too many fairy tales and romance novels," Derek kissed her head in a way that had long ago become commonplace between them. "You didn't do anything. And I'm not a knight. But, you, Sammie-Girl, you are definitely a princess."

Sammie didn't say anything, simply let him hold her, basking in both the warmth of his body heat and how amazing it felt to be this close to him. She'd done exactly what Keira and her cousins had warned her against. She'd fallen in love with her best friend. She'd fallen in love with Derek Morgan.

"If I'm the princess, what are you?"

"The guy who cleans up and takes care of you." The words sounded lame, even to him, and he cringed slightly.

"Oh. So, basically, you're just babysitting me," Sammie sounded sad and didn't look up at him the way she usually did when she spoke to him.

"Angel, that's not what I meant, Princess. Come here," Derek pulled her back to him, slipping his arms around her waist and holding her close so she couldn't shy away. Her chest was pressed to his and their faces close. "Sammie, you _are_ the beautiful princess. You're just this perfect princess waiting for some prince to come and sweep you off your feet. The thing is, you're so perfect and so beautiful and so good that whatever prince succeeds is gonna have to be really damn special to deserve you.

"I'm not a prince, Sam. Maybe I'm one of those knights who's supposed to protect you until the prince comes, but I'm not a shiny one. I'm one of the knights in rusted armour, all battle worn and exhausted, old. It's like you're Guinevere and I'm Lancelot. I'm just supposed to protect you until King Arthur gets back."

"Derek?" Sammie cupped the palm of her hand to his jaw and smiled.

"Yeah?" Derek could tell she was getting closer. Her body was pressing more fully against his and she buried her fingers of her left hand in his hair, gently scraping her nails against his scalp in a pleasant way.

"Guinevere and Lancelot fell in love and had an affair."

"Oh. Well, that was a really shitty example than, huh?"

"Really shitty," Sammie's nose touched his and he could feel her breath against his lips and skin. He needed to pull away from her. She was too close. "You know what I don't like about traditional fairy tales?"

"What don't you like, Baby Girl?" He held her slightly more securely and closed his eyes against how near she was to him, how intoxicating.

"The princess… she's always passive. She never tries to save herself. Rapunzel waits in a tower for her prince, but she never thinks to tie her hair to the bed, repel down the tower and cut her hair off when she reaches the end. Cinderella never leaves her stepmother's house until the fairy godmother comes and gives her a magic pumpkin. She's always indebted to the prince who whisks her away from her pathetic former life and the prince never asks if she wants to go. Maybe she was really waiting for the baker, not the prince.

"The princess never says want she wants," Sammie whispered. "Others always decide what she wants for her. She never says 'I want Lancelot' and then takes him."

Sammie's eyes searched his for a moment and then, without giving herself a moment to change her mind or loose her courage, she tilted her chin and Derek felt her soft lips mold against his. The kiss was gentle and uncertain; almost like she was terrified he'd turn her away. Slowly and tentatively, as if regaining his senses, he kissed her back, adjusting his arms around her waist more securely.

Kissing her more firmly, his mind screamed at him how wrong this was. He should _not_ be kissing Samantha Murdoch at all, much less on the night of her beloved grandfather's funeral, despite the fact that she initiated the kiss. Everything about this kiss was wrong no matter how right it felt. She was too young, too vulnerable, too sweet and innocent, too good for him. But he couldn't bring himself to move away from her or stop the kiss, all he could do was hold her tighter and kiss her all the more.

Sammie slipped her arms around his neck and held him more securely to her, seeming to hear the internal monologue streaming through his mind and wanting to make sure he would stay. Derek smiled against her mouth, but let her hold him the way he'd wanted her to for months. He'd thought about this moment more times than he remembered since he met her, though he'd never let himself believe it might actually happen.

Her tongue teased his bottom lip and he pulled his head back slightly and rested his forehead against hers, his chest heaving and his breathing laboured. Sammie smiled and pushed herself up on her toes slightly to reignite the kiss with renewed passion and fervor. The wind blew her hair around and the ends tickled his cheeks as he ignored the warnings still ringing in his head. He gently moved his mouth against hers, still keeping the kiss chaste and what Sarah would have teased him as being worthy of a Disney movie.

But he didn't care. He loved everything about the simple kiss and would have gladly kissed her thus for years. Derek held her close and felt immeasurable happiness fill every inch of his being as she cuddled closely into his arms and, after a few more breathless kisses, tucked her head down against his chest and took several gasping breaths.

Sammie beamed happily with her head on his chest while he pressed a kiss to her forehead and squeezed her briefly. She closed her eyes and inhaled the pleasant scent of his aftershave that always clung to him. Leaning his head against hers, he nuzzled his nose tenderly against her temple, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek.

"I think," he whispered slowly, "that we should never do that again."

Her eyes welled with sudden tears at his words and she clenched them shut. He didn't want her. She wasn't good enough. Too fat, too ugly, too stupid. She pulled away violently and turned her back on him, hurrying away using her purple and yellow scarf as a tissue. Derek caught her easily and wrapped her back up in his arms, kissing her in a far less Disney approved way.

Sammie made a small noise and flung her arms around his neck, kissing him back once again, all respectable restraint forgotten. Giving up completely, he held her as closely as physically possible, his mouth moved impassionedly against hers and he groaned internally as she explored his mouth with her tongue, tentatively at first before gaining in confidence when she felt him fist his hands in her shirt.

"This is wrong," he murmured against her mouth and she shook her head no, continuing to kiss him. "Sammie, Baby Girl, we can't…"

"Shut up," she whispered, kissing the side of his mouth and scraping her fingers through his hair.

"Sam? Uncle Nico wants to…" James' voice and the jingling of the bell attached to Ponsiglione's door broke through the icy air and Sammie and Derek jerked apart abruptly. James trailed off when he spotted the two and he looked stunned for a few moments before a slow smile spread across his face. "It's about damn time."

James turned around and hurried back into the restaurant yelling that Sammie wasn't out there and they'd have to do it without her, whatever 'it' was. Derek looked at the blonde who was now standing a few feet away from him and smiled in a rueful sort of way.

"Let's go for a walk, Angel," Derek slipped his gloved hand into hers and they walked farther away from Ponsiglione's and Sammie's family. They walked in silence down the snow-covered street that might as well have been taken from a picture out of _Christmas in America_. The street wouldn't be quite so idyllic once the snow had been trodden on and was reduced to dirty, brown slosh.

Before long, Sammie was tucked against his side again and they walked quietly down the street, looking at all the Easter decorations still up in the shop windows. They had reached the small park entrance at the end of the block and hesitated for a moment before entering. Derek pressed a kiss to her temple once again and tightened his hold on her when she shivered.

"Maybe we should go back," he suggested, but Sammie shook her head and simply snuggled closer.

"I don't want to."

"We need to talk," Derek said finally, trying to keep his voice firm, "about… about us… that kiss."

Sammie nodded slowly, sadly. She didn't want to talk about it, but knew there was no avoiding the conversation.

"Sam, we can't do that."

"Why not?" Her voice was soft and she looked up at him with big brown eyes that he knew would be his undoing.

"I'm too old for you, Angel. It's not right."

"You're only four years older than I am," she reasoned. "Dad was seven years older than Mum.

"You're nineteen, Sammie," he shook his head, laughing a little.

"So? I'm over eighteen. It's not illegal. I'm gonna be twenty in a week. Gram was nineteen when she married Gramps and they've been married… were married for over fifty years."

Derek closed his eyes and leaned his cheek against her head. Sighing slightly, he felt so guilty for loving the feel of her pressed to his side, for loving the adoring way her voice sounded when she spoke to him and the way her eyes sparkled when she looked at him. Everything about this was wrong. He was dirty and vile and most definitely not worthy of her. He had no business being the object of her affection.

"I'm not good enough for you," he told her finally, looking away in a shame he knew she didn't understand. "You deserve better than me."

Sammie frowned and stopped suddenly, causing him to jerk back in surprise, not realizing she had stopped. Reaching up with one hand, she forced him to look at her and, after studying his eyes for several moments, she pushed herself on her toes and kissed him lovingly. Everything within Derek melted wonderfully at the acceptance in her kiss.

"How can you tell me you're not good enough for me? Isn't that for me to decide?" Sammie asked him seriously, her palm still cupping his cheek. She kissed him once more and Derek closed his eyes, wishing he could have her but knowing he couldn't.

"Sam, please," he leaned his forehead against hers, wishing she could understand. He could never – would never – tell her about Carl Buford. He'd only shared with James because James was so much like himself. But Sammie… he could never tell Sammie, he could never bear the look she would give him if she found out, he wouldn't be able to stand the mix of pity and revolt he knew would swim in her brown eyes if she knew. "Please, you have to understand, Baby Girl."

"No, I don't. This is silly," Sammie said insistently. "You like me, don't you?"

"Sammie –"

"Yes or no."

"Sammie, you know I love you. But that doesn't change –"

"It changes everything and you know it," Sammie protested, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face in his chest. Derek's chest felt heavy and he wanted so badly to say, yes, it changed everything, that loving her and being with her was perfectly fine and there was absolutely nothing wrong with it. But he knew every word of that was a complete lie.

"Angel, it doesn't change anything. I love you; you know I love you. But you and I cannot go down this road," Derek shook his head and steeled himself to defend his decision.

"Derek Morgan, you're being completely stupid," Sammie started.

"I'm not. I'm not being stupid, Sam. I'm being realistic. Yes, I love you, but I'm also four years older than you, you're in your first year of college, you're vulnerable, you just lost your dad and your grandpa and you're dealing with this trial and I can't take advantage of you like this."

"You're not taking advantage of me!" She protested. "I want this. I want _you_, Derek. I love you."

"You don't know what you –"

"Don't tell me I don't know what I want! I'm always being told what I want and I hate it! I hate being told what I want. I want this, you big jerk. You. I want you."

"Sammie, I have to go into that courtroom tomorrow and testify. I can't do that if we do this. I have to protect you, Baby Girl."

"I don't need you to protect me, Derek!" Sammie was shouting now and Derek could see her eyes watering and he wanted to pull her close and kiss her tears away and tell her everything would be okay. "I don't _want_ you to protect me. I want you to love me."

o o o o

"_The hunger for love is much more difficult to remove than the hunger for bread." – Mother Teresa_

**_

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_**

**A/N:**

**The boys won their football game yesterday and we're moving on to the next round of playoffs next Saturday. They won 27-23 and, I swear, they were trying to gimme a stroke the entire time. Back and forth, back and forth, ohmygoodness, just kill me already. BB#2 goes a few great tackles and got him names announced a bunch of times! It was awesome. My throat's still killing me from shouting so much. It was a great Saturday afternoon. I love those boys so much. Nothing means more to me than my little brothers.**

**Saturday evening was, in some ways, even more eventful. The Leafs played the Canucks and I nearly pulled all my hair out. I love them both so much! I didn't know what to do! The Leafs started it 2-0 and then it was 2-1 and then it ended the 1st period 2-2 and then the Canucks uped it 2-3 and then the Leafs struck back and it was tied 3-3 at the end of the 2nd. And then it was 3-4 Canucks and then 3-5 Canucks. Ugh. My Canucks won in the end for the 7th game in a row and my poor, poor Leafs lost their 8th game straight. I still don't know whether to be thrilled or distraught. My friend thompbrl said she wanted to be there to watch me loose my mind and I was like, "Yeah... it'd make a helluva YouTube video."**

**Okay. I'm tired. And I still have to drive back to school.**

**Thanks so much for reading! I hope you liked it and, please, tell me what you think - good or bad!**

**Love, Thalia**


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.**

* * *

"_Some people enter our lives and leave almost instantly. Others stay and forge such an impression on our heart and soul we are changed forever." – Unknown_

o o o o

3 April, 2000

When Derek walked into the courtroom Monday morning, his heart was heavy: partially because he was more nervous and anxious today than he'd been before any stupid football game and partially because Sammie hadn't spoken to him since the previous afternoon. He'd barely slept more than thirty minutes; he'd spent the entire night mentally demolishing himself for letting this happen. Every time he'd come anywhere close to falling asleep, he'd float back to the feeling of her lips on his and he'd wake up again.

James gave him a funny look as he walked through the doors, knowing something wasn't right, but not knowing what exactly was wrong. Derek nodded at the teen before walking past to find Sammie sitting on a bench, once more pouring her heart into one of the leather-bound journals he'd so often seen her with.

Quietly, Derek sat next to her. Neither one of them spoke; he knew she was heartbroken and, if he were honest with himself, so was he. After several long, silent minutes, he reached out a hand a touch her arm. Sammie jerked away like his touch burned and he hated himself.

"Sam, I know you're mad at me," he kept his voice quiet and heard her take a shaky breath like she was trying not to cry. "I'm sorry, Sammie. I know you're mad at me."

Sammie didn't respond, but didn't flinch away from his hand on her wrist, which Derek took as a good sign. As soon as she'd yelled at him yesterday that she'd wanted him to love her, not protect her, she'd tensed up with this defiant look in her eyes, like she was waiting for something. It wasn't until about three in the morning that he'd realized she'd been waiting for him to hit her, a thought that nearly made him sick.

"We have a lot happening today, Sammie. I don't want you worrying about us. You and I… we'll figure this out. Sammie, look at me just for a second and then you don't have to look at me again until you want to. Please, Sam." Derek waited until she turned her head enough to barely be able to see him out of the corner of her eye. "We'll figure this out, Sammie-Girl. Just not now. After this is over, we'll figure this out. Don't be mad today. You can be as mad as you want when the this is all over, but, please, don't be mad until then."

Again, she didn't respond, just looked away from him again and adjusted her grip on the pink pen. Derek sat next to her silently as she went back to writing in her journal, the pink ink filling more and more of the page. He didn't expect her to say anything and started in surprise when she leaned her head against his arm several wordless minutes later.

"Sam…"

"I'm mad at you," she whispered, "but I need my best friend right now."

"I'll always be here. Always."

"I know."

"I'm sorry, Baby Girl."

"Don't," Sammie bristled.

"Don't what?" Derek asked, pulling his hand away from her wrist just in case.

"Don't call me that. The pet names. I can't…"

"Okay," he nodded. His chest felt like lead. He'd destroyed the most important relationship he had in the world and he couldn't put it back together. "I won't."

"Derek?" Sammie looked up at him after what felt like ages of silence. "I'm scared. I don't know if I can get up there and tell everyone what he did while he's staring at me. And my family's going to be in there. And Father Berlusconi. How can I talk about it while they're listening? They're all going to know what–"

"Hey, hey… relax," Derek wrapped his arms around her shoulders and hugged her tight as she started to shake and her voice reached a higher pitch that he recognized as her becoming hysterical. "It's okay, Sammie. Breathe for me. Take a deep breath. You're gonna be okay."

Sammie nodded into his shoulder and Derek rubbed her back, repeating assurances that she'd be okay.

"He doesn't control you anymore, Sam. He can't hurt you. Not ever. No one's going to let him hurt you. And no one's going to be thinking anything when you're talking other than how unbelievably strong you are to get up there and not let Nick get away with hurting you," Derek squeezed her hand. "Don't even look at him. You don't even have to look at him. You can just pick a spot on the wall or the floor and stare at that while you talk."

"I wish you could be in there."

"I know, Sammie. So do I."

"Samantha," Jos stopped in front of the bench they sat on and Sammie looked up. "Time to go in."

Sammie nodded and looked at her hands for a moment before standing up. Jos walked away from speak to Rodrigo and Andria, giving Sammie a few more moments alone with Derek. Hugging her tightly, Derek closed his eyes.

"If you need to stop for a second, do it. Don't worry about it. Stop for a second and take a deep breath," Derek whispered in her ear. "if you get scared or anything, just close your eyes and pretend we're back in my apartment and it's just you and me. Just forget that anyone else is even there. It's just you and me. Like last week when we went through all of this together. Remember?"

"Just pretend you're talking to me. No one else is listening," Derek nodded.

"You and me," Sammie repeated to herself.

"You and me."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

If Derek was honest, he had no desire to ever hear Sammie recite what had happened that night again. It had been difficult enough to listen the first time without killing Farese. The man really was lucky a set of iron bars stood between them protecting him. Being in the same room as Farese would be difficult, but it was what he had to do.

Derek sat on a bench right outside the courtroom while the trial started again. The court clerk by him seemed bored and in need of caffeine. Looking down at his feet, Derek took a few deep breaths. He's spent time assuring Sam that she would be okay, but he had to wonder if _he'd_ be okay. He had just accepted that this was something he had to do, but tried not to think about it too much.

He was doing for Sammie what he hadn't been able to do for himself.

He was making sure the man who hurt her could never hurt her again.

He hadn't been able to do that for himself. But he could do it for Sammie.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

"Do you solemnly swear or affirm that the testimony that you will give before this court will be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

"I do."

"Be seated. Please state your name and occupation for the record."

"Derek Morgan. I am a police officer with the Chicago Police Department."

"When did you meet Samantha Murdoch?"

"October twenty-first, nineteen ninety-nine. We responded to her father, Tom Murdoch's suicide."

"And you have since become friends of the Murdoch family?"

"Yes."

"Any… members in particular, Mr. Morgan?"

"James and Samantha."

"When did you learn that Samantha was in a relationship with Nick Farese?"

"About a week or so after I met her. I met him, sort of, at her Tom's funeral."

"'Sort of?'"

"We weren't introduced. Never spoke."

"Describe the encounter for the jury, please, Mr. Morgan."

Derek took a breath. It felt like he hadn't inhaled since walking into the room. Just like every time Jos had asked him this question out of court, he flashed back to that night for a moment and suppressed a surge of fury at the memory. Glancing up at Sammie, he saw her staring down at the table in front of her.

"Everyone was at the wake at the family's restaurant, Ponsiglione's. I had just gotten some food and she – Samantha – was at the other end of the table. She was picking out whatever it was she wanted and Farese came up to her and asked if she really 'needed' to eat that. He said 'you're already fat. I'm not taking a fat girl to my cousin's wedding.' He walked away like he hadn't said anything and Samantha threw her food away and went to hide in the bathroom."

"Objection," the defense lawyer stood up. "Saying she 'hid' is an assumption and suggestive."

"I asked him to describe _his_ memory of the night," Jos argued.

"Overruled. Continue, Mr. Morgan."

"Two of her cousins followed her to the bathroom and I went outside to find James. He had just walked out of the restaurant. We talked briefly about Farese, James said he was always treating Samantha like that, but mostly we spoke about Tom."

"Now, prior to his suicide, Tom had been physically and mentally abusing both of his children, correct?"

"Yes."

"You said you met the Murdoch's the day Tom Murdoch died, so you know this from… pictures? Stories?" Jos had warned him about these questions when they had spoken. He wanted to give the defense as little to grab onto during cross-examination as possible, so that meant covering all their bases.

"Pictures, stories, police records."

"Objection, Your Honour. How is this relevant to the case?"

"The character of the victim," Jos shrugged.

"Your Honour!"

"Mr. Berlusconi…"

"The character of Miss Samantha Murdoch," Jos amended, "who apparently is not a victim until the jury decides she is."

"Mr. Berlusconi."

"I apologize. Mr. Morgan," Jos returned his attention to Derek, "when did you first suspect Mr. Farese was abusing Miss Murdoch?"

"The day I first met Farese."

"Now, Mr. Farese didn't lay a hand on Miss Murdoch that day, did he?"

"Not to my knowledge, but he did verbally assault her, which is considered abuse within the confines of Illinois state laws."

"It's so nice having a witness so familiar with our state laws. You're absolutely correct, Mr. Morgan. Verbal, mental and emotional abuse is punishable by law in Illinois. Did you suspect he was physically abusing her as well? That night, I mean."

"I thought it was a possibility. No proof, just a hunch."

"You got proof relatively soon after that, though, right?"

"I did. Later that week, she had a bruise along her left jaw. She claimed she tripped. The next week, she had a black eye – I don't remember her excuse. She always gave a possible, but not plausible excuse when she showed up injured. One of the injuries might have been accepted, but not combined together. I didn't believe her and neither did anyone else. No one gets hit with a soccer ball, trips or knocks things off shelves that many times in one month."

"When did you have _what you believe_ to be concrete proof of the _physically_ abusive relationship between Mr. Farese and Miss Murdoch, Mr. Morgan?"

"Mid-December. At James' last football game of the season."

"And what was, in your opinion, that concrete proof of physical abuse?"

"She had a hand mark bruised to the back of her neck. Even from twenty-odd yards away, I could see individual finger marks."

"Using my forearm as Miss Murdoch's neck, can you show us how the fingers appeared?" Derek nodded and Jos approached the witness stand. "Alright. My palm is Miss Murdoch's face. Isn't she lovely? How did the hand appear on her neck?"

"It was a right hand," Derek wrapped a hand around Jos' forearm. "The thumb was right behind her left jaw," Derek raised his left hand to show on his own neck about where the thumb had bruised, "and the fingers where on the right, the index behind her right jaw."

"Thank you," Jos pulled away and walked back to the center of the room. "Now, surely you said something after seeing such an obvious mark?"

"Yes. I confronted her. I said she needed more than makeup to hide that from me and she denied knowing what I was talking about. We fought about it. She said that Farese would never hurt her, that he 'loved' her. I told her that what he was doing wasn't love, it was abuse."

"How'd she react?"

"Badly. She didn't speak to me until December twenty-eighth."

"What happened to initiate contact?"

"Farese raped her."

"Objection!" Farese's lawyer jumped up. "Rape is a legal conclusion. Allowing the use of the word 'rape' before the jury reaches their conclusion would be prejudicial."

"Sit down, counselor," the judge commanded loudly. "Your client is on trial for rape, abuse and attempted murder. The word 'rape' is going to come up. Now sit down."

"Mr. Morgan," Jos continued like they hadn't been interrupted. "Please, tell the court, in your own words, what transpired the morning of December the twenty-eighth."

"I had just gotten home from work and had only just fallen asleep when, at two in the morning, someone started knocking at the door and woke me up. She was soaking wet and crying. I got her inside and it was a good thirty minutes before she calmed down enough to talk. Samantha looked at me and I got a good look at her face. Her entire face was beginning to bruise and swell, but especially the left side. The left side of her mouth was swollen and blood pooling under her skin, her eye was starting to swell shut. There was a deep gash across the bridge of her nose, here," Derek pointed to his own nose to indicated where the cut had been, where the scar could been seen on Sammie's face now, before moving down to below his eye to show where it continued, "and then under her left eye. The cut was covered in crusted blood and I saw that the cuff on the left sleeve of her jacket was bloody like she'd been holding it against her face to try and stop the bleeding."

Derek glanced at Sammie briefly only to have his heart break when he saw she was crying.

"I, uh… I wanted to take Samantha to the hospital and call the police, but she didn't want to. I took her to the bathroom and showed her her reflection. She started crying again and asking me why he, why Farese didn't love her. Why she wasn't good enough for him. We were almost out to door to go to the hospital and Farese showed up and started pounding on my door and shouting. Samantha went a hid while I dealt with Farese. I opened the door and he tried to push past me into the apartment to find her. I cuffed him to the railing and read him his Miranda Rights. Mark came within five minutes and took him to the police department. Once Farese was gone, I found Samantha and took her to the hospital."

"At the hospital, all the standard testing was done," Jos nodded, "A rape kit was performed, she had an X-ray to check her ribs, her laceration was sewn up. And you were there, correct?"

"Yes. I only left during the X-ray."

"That must have been very difficult," Jos noted sympathetically.

"Yes. It's hard seeing someone you love in pain."

"Thank you, Mr. Morgan. I have no further questions at this time, Your Honour. Defenses' witness."

Jos sat down next to Sammie and whispered something to her, squeezing her hand. Sammie nodded slowly as Farese' lawyer stood and cleared his throat.

"Hello, Mr. Morgan. I just have a few questions about everything. So, let's just slow down a little and talk through all this. Sometimes, it's like Mr. Berlusconi is the crew chief and this is all just one overly long pit stop. Now, these marks on Miss Murdoch, the bruise on her chin, the black eye… she offered explanations to how they were incurred?"

"Yes, she did."

"And you yourself admitted they were _possible_ explanations, did you not?"

"Yes, I did. But it's not plausible. That many 'accidents' in that short –"

"Please stick to 'yes' or 'no,' Mr. Morgan. So, if Miss Murdoch wasn't lying about how the bruises occurred, perhaps she's just unnaturally clumsy. Many people are. That's possible, is it not?"

"No," Derek shook his head. "She's not 'unnaturally clumsy.' I've spent time with Samantha and she's not 'unnaturally clumsy.'"

"Well now, you've only known her for six, seven months. You can't possibly know everything about her."

"Clumsiness is an observable feature," Derek argued.

"That wasn't a question, Mr. Morgan. Now, in reference to the hand mark on her neck, that wasn't necessarily incurred in an act of violence," the light haired attorney said, looking towards the jury. Derek just raised an eyebrow in doubtful disbelief. "Mr. Farese could have been pulling her out of the way of injury."

"When you're pulling someone out of the way of a car, you don't grab their neck," Derek objected. "You grab their arm or their waist or their shirt, but not their neck."

"It could have been in an act of passion," he shrugged. "Things get heated in the bedr –"

"Objection!" Jos stood up angrily.

"Overruled. Make your point, counselor."

"It's possible, though, isn't it Mr. Morgan."

"No."

"No?" he cocked his head like he was surprised by Derek's answer. "It's not possible that Miss Murdoch was in a consensual sexual relationship with Mr. Farese?"

"No," Derek shook his head and tried to keep his cool. He hadn't been expecting this question. "It's not possible that someone could get that grip on the back of their partners' neck while they were having sex and keep it tight enough for long enough to leave that dark and defined of a bruise."

"Anything's possible."

"That isn't. Besides, she wouldn't have tried to hide either one of those."

"Let's move on," the lawyer shrugged like they were talking about whether it was possible to win a game of Minesweeper with closed eyes instead of whether or not his Sammie had been physically abused. "Why, of all people, did Miss Murdoch choose to run to you after the alleged rape?"

"She knew she was safe with me."

"She wasn't safe at her house? Her grandparents? Any of her aunts or uncles? Keira Young, the young lady we heard from a few days ago – her house wasn't safe?"

"Nick knew where those places were. Nick could find her there."

"Obviously, he knew where you lived as well. He was arrested right outside your apartment. _I_ think that Miss Murdoch ran to you because the two of you were, and still are, having a secret affair. Mr. Farese found out about the affair, was obviously upset, and Miss Murdoch ran away. She ran to you, her lover, and the two of you concocted this entire story to get Mr. Farese out of the picture."

No," Derek said firmly, his mind racing. He had been prepared for Nick's defense to include the idea that he and Sammie were dating, but he hadn't expected this part. "Samantha and I are _not_ involved with each other."

"You already said you loved her, that it was hard to watch someone you loved in pain."

"She's my best friend," Derek protested. "But it doesn't go beyond that. I would have felt the same pain watching either of my sisters go through what she's been through."

"I think _you_ gave Miss Murdoch those injuries before taking her to the hospital and the two of you blamed my client."

"Objection!" Jos interjected forcefully. "In the evidence H, the video from the surveillance camera taken from Mr. Morgan's apartment complex, her injuries can be seen as she's walking up the stairs to Mr. Morgan's door and, thirty-seven and a half minutes later, Mr. Farese is seen running up those same stairs."

"Objection is noted."

"I believe, Mr. Morgan, that you and Miss Murdoch invented this entire situation to remove Mr. Farese from this tangled web you've created. No further questions."

"And I suppose the bites on her thighs match _my_ teeth, do they?"

ooo ooo ooo ooo

Derek sat next to Keira, still seething over the defense's accusation. He knew as soon as the words left his mouth that he shouldn't have referred to the one fresh wound on the inside of her thighs and the four others in various stages of scaring that the police had made molds of after the doctor had finished her rape kit. But he had.

He'd never been told if the molds from her legs matched the cast of Farese's teeth they had made while he was in jail, but he didn't have to be told. He knew. He knew in his heart, in the deepest part of his soul who'd left them there.

Derek's chest tightened with anger thinking about the pictures of the scars Nick had left on her inner thighs in the police report and just thinking about them now sorely tempted the part of him that wanted to snap Farese's neck. The bastard had left five identical scars, three on one thigh and two on the other, that showed his teeth pitted into her flesh. Only one of them had been inflicted the night he took her to the hospital, the rest had fully healed by that night, but that didn't exactly make him jump for joy. It just meant he'd been hurting her that way long enough that the scars had had time to heal, which wasn't a happy thought in any universe.

He wasn't supposed to have seen the pictures, but they'd been on Jos' desk with other evidence when Derek arrive to their last meeting early. He'd known they were there – he'd had to listen to the entire description while the doctor dictated to the nurse and hold Sammie's hand while the police made their molds, but he hadn't seen them until a week or so ago. The angry, red scars seared themselves into his mind forever and no matter how hard to he tried to erase the image, it always resurfaced.

Derek took a deep breath and glanced at his watch. He'd left the courtroom over three hours ago. The jury had to be deliberating by now, right? Turning to Keira, he opened his mouth just as the door opened and the court clerk entered.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

Derek's eyes never left Sammie's back from where he sat next to James while the jury shuffled back into the room. When only the foreman was left standing, the judge opened his mouth.

"Has the jury reached a verdict?"

"We have, Your Honour. On the charge of aggravated assault, the jury finds the defendant 'guilty.'"

Derek exhaled and felt James grab his hand.

"On the charge of sexual assault, the jury finds the defendant 'guilty.'"

Derek squeezed James' hand and took a shaky breath.

"On the charge of attempted murder, the jury finds the defendant 'not guilty.'"

o o o o

_ "I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having the change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next. Delicious Ambiguity." – Gilda Radner

* * *

_

**A/N:**

**There's 2 whole weeks until a new Criminal Minds episode! I HATE THESE LITTLE MINI-BREAKS! /sniff.**

**It was a rough weekend for me. Yall know I'm not much of an American football fan, I am, however, a MASSIVE fan of my LB and my BBs, so I get into their football games. Well, football season's over for the Gratiae family. Forever. Because all my brother's are seniors and this is their last season of football. I'm never going to see them in their football uniforms again, which totally broke my heart into a bazillion peices. I'm so proud of my brothers and the rest of the team. They had a great, great season. 11-2. I love my little brothers more than anything in the entire world and seeing them crying over the end of the season killed me. Seeing my big, strong boys cry and seeing my LB drop his shoulder pads and his bag on the ground after exiting the locker room and latching onto Mum made me cry. Just thinking about it's making my nose tingle and eyes water. He's honestly my entire world. My little brother means everything to me and I hate seeing him upset and hurting.**

**Ummm... I'm going to head home. I have to go pick up my friend and then driiiiive far, far away from school. Thanks so much for reading, I hope you liked it and, please, tell me what you think - good or bad!**

**Love, Thalia**

**P.S. ****Okay. I'm just gonna leave you with a quote from my mummy while we watched the American Music Awards on Sunday. She's hilarious and I love her. She's also obsessed (read: completely in love with) Usher. Here we go: "Someone needs to grab that little BieberBobber, wonk him on the head with that award (the AMA for Best Male Pop Artist) and give it to Usher!" I nearly died laughing.**


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.**

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"_Many people need desperately to receive this message: 'I feel and think much as you do, care about many of the things you care about, although most people do not care about them. You are not alone.'" – Kurt Vonnegut_

o o o o

19 April, 2000

"Derek?" James held the phone to his ear, his voice hushed as he watched his sister. "Derek, something's wrong with Sam. I don't know. She's just lying in Dad's bed watching home videos from when we were kids. I haven't seen her move or eat in days. She won't talk to anybody. She's supposed to be back up at school, but – Yeah, I know you guys are fighting. I mean, that was pretty damn obvious when her birthday passed and you didn't show up or – I don't care! You're both being stupid. This is so retarded it belongs on the short bus. Derek!"

ooo ooo ooo ooo

Knocking on the whitewashed door, Derek waited a moment before pushing it open and walking slowly into the room. He'd never been in this room in the Murdoch house before, in Tom's bedroom. Closing the door behind him, he saw Sammie curled tightly in a ball in the middle of the queen bed, the covers pulled up so that all he could see of her the back of her blonde head.

Slowly, he walked around the bed to the side of the room she faced and saw the small television sitting on the nightstand. Neither one of them spoke as he took off his traffic and patrol belt and put it on top of the chest of drawers a couple feet away. He took the magazine out of the gun just as he always did before turning to Sammie and silently padding the rest of the way over to her.

Derek hadn't bothered to change in the locker room after her finished his shift before heading over to the Murdoch's house. James' SOS call while he was in the middle of work scared him. He knew Sammie was having trouble, but he hadn't known how badly. He'd done just what he'd promised her he would – he had left her alone until she wanted him back. Derek thought that was the right thing to do, but now doubt crept into his mind.

"Sammie?" Derek sat on the floor next to the bed, not sure how close was too close or how she would react to his presence. Sammie didn't move, didn't even glace in his direction. Her eyes were open and watching the screen, her hand running over the brown hair of the Samantha doll she had hugged to her chest. Looking away from Sammie, Derek watched the video playing on the television.

"_Daddy!" A toddler Sammie with wispy blonde hair pulled up in a ponytail on top of her head and a saggy diaper waddled over to where a young Tom Murdoch sat on the floor, leaning back against a brown leather couch. In her hands, she held out a record, her chubby hands crinkling the paper file that protected the vinyl. Tom laughed and scooped the little girl into his lap, kissing her cheek and taking the record from her._

_Holding Sammie with one arm, Tom walked over to the record player, pulled the vinyl out of its' holder and positioned it on the turntable. The record scratched for a second before the music started._

"_The minstrel of the dawn is here to make you laugh and bend your ear. Up the steps you'll hear him climb, all full of thoughts, all full of rhymes. Listen to the pictures flow across the room into your mind they go," Tom sang along with the lyrics and danced around the room with a happy Sammie in his arms. "Listen to the strings! They jangle and dangle while the old guitar rings. The minstrel of the dawn is he, not too wise, but oh so free."_

"He'll talk of life out on the street, he'll play it sad and say it sweet," Sammie whispered along with her father. "Look into his shining face of loneliness you'll always find a trace… Just like me and you, he's trying to get into things more happy than blue…"

Derek watched Sammie stroke her doll's head while the lyrics stopped for a moment during an instrumental break and the toddler's laughter could be heard. Sammie closed her eyes as Tom began singing again. Another stanza and Sammie joined in again in a soft whisper.

"A minstrel of the dawn in near, just like a step 'n fetchit here. He's like an old time troubador just wanting life and nothing more. Look into his shining eyes and if you see a ghost don't be surprised," Sammie's voice broke on the word 'ghost' and she forced out a few more words before giving up and letting her father finish the last of the that stanza. Derek wanted to reach out to take her hand, but he worried about her reaction to his touch – whether it was wanted or not.

"_C'mon, Sammie-Girl," Tom grinned and tossed Sammie in the air just high enough so Andria gasped and protested from where she stood behind the camera. "Sing with Daddy. Come on, Princess. You know the words. The minstrel boy will understand. He holds a promise in his hand. He talks of better days ahead and by his words…"_

_Sammie sang along in garbled words that vaguely resembled what Tom sang, her toothy smile wide and brown eyes bright, full of laughter and happiness and love. They sang and danced through several songs before the album stopped. As soon as the music stopped, Sammie started crying._

"_Tom, flip the record," Andria's voice floated through the speakers, though her face remained unseen. "I can't believe how much she loves Gordon Lightfoot."_

"_Just because _you_ don't like him doesn't mean she can't," Tom snapped._

"_Tom… I didn't –"_

_Tom ignored his wife and flipped the record so that the music started again. Immediately upon the music returning, Sammie stopped crying and shrieked happily, clapping her hands together and raising her arms for Tom to pick her up._

Derek couldn't help but smile a little, not at the way Tom treated Andria, but at the way Sammie, even as a toddler, responded to the music. He turned away from the small television when he heard sniffling that didn't come from the speakers. Opening his mouth to say her name, he stopped when he saw the tears streaming down her face and the way she tried not to make noise while she cried.

"Sammie," Derek reached out, but she pulled back before he could touch her.

"Don't touch me."

"Okay," he held his hands up. "I won't touch you."

"Go away."

"I can't go away, Sam," Derek shook his head.

"Yes, you can," Sammie whispered. "The door's right there."

"Sam –"

"I don't need you, Derek. Just go away," her voice wavered over her assertion that she didn't need him, but the words stung just the same.

"Sammie –"

"Leave me alone. Please, just leave me alone."

"Have you eaten anything?" The question caught Sammie off-guard and she shook her head before she thought about it. "Okay. I'm going to go get you something to eat."

"Derek –"

Derek shook his head and stood up, closing the door behind him and leaning against the wood for a moment with his eyes closed. He was just another man who'd hurt her, just another person who promised her everything, raised her up and up and up only to yank the floor out from under her and watch her freefall.

Sammie hadn't been the only one freefalling since they kissed, though. Derek had been, still was, falling, completely unable to regain his equilibrium or find solid ground again. That night almost three weeks ago had been the first time in months that he'd gone to sleep without talking to Sammie first or listening to a voice message from her. He missed her, more than he could express. What Derek _wanted_ to do right now, instead of going downstairs to get her something to eat, was to crawl into the bed next to her and hold her as close as possible. He missed listening to her tell him about her day, about her dreams and fears and anything that she thought about. He wanted to hold her tight and just talk to her.

He missed her constant presence in his life. He missed her smile, her voice, her brown eyes; he missed the way she smelt, the way she fell asleep during movies, the way she physically relaxed when he was close. She wasn't going to relax around him that way anymore. Derek knew that and it hurt. She was already building walls between them to protect herself.

Finally pulling himself away from the door, he walked to the stairwell and hurried down the steps that he knew would lead him to the kitchen. Andria looked up when she heard his footsteps and watched him turn the corner.

"Did she say anything?"

"Not really," Derek shook his head. "She's watching video's from when she was little – she and Tom were dancing and singing to Gordon something or other…"

"Gordon Lightfoot," Andria sighed and put a dish in the drying rack before reaching for another. "He was Tom's favourite. Samantha has all Lightfoot's CDs, but she's latched onto Tom's records since he… Umm… Our record player broke a few years ago. I've been trying to track down the same one Tom had, but I can't find any. He got it in Canada, so I guess I shouldn't be holding my breath. Maybe I could call Colin and ask him to look around Port Stanley or if he goes into London sometime soon."

"London?"

"London, Ontario," she clarified as Derek grabbed a towel and started drying the dishes. "Thank you. London's the largest city within an hour of Port Stanley. That's where Tom's family grew up, but most of them moved to London. His sister moved to Toronto. Only Colin and Aimee still live in Port Stanley."

Derek nodded absently and put the dry cups away. "Is it alright if I bring some food upstairs and try to get Sam to eat?"

"I've been taking plates up constantly, but she just picks at them. Has she said _anything_ to you? She talks to you."

"We haven't been talking since the last day of the trial," Derek admitting, leaving out relatively important details.

"I was worried that would hurt your friendship."

Friendship.

Right.

"I know you love her," Andria glanced at him and he nearly dropped the glass mixing bowl he'd been putting away. "I'm not stupid, Derek. I have eyes."

"I'm staying away from her. I'm not going to hurt her by doing anything," he whispered, adjusting his grip on the bowl. Andria looked at him like she knew something he didn't and nodded, turning back to the dishes without saying anything. "I'm not. I'm not going to hurt her. She's been through too much."

"She loves you."

"I know."

"She's too young," Andria spoke more to herself than to Derek now. "She's too young for a lot of things that have happened."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

"Sammie?" Derek pushed the door open again, carefully holding a plate in one hand and a glass in the other. The television had been turned off and the only noise in the room was Sammie still running her hand over Samantha's hair. Closing the door with his foot, the walked around the bed and sat down next to her, putting the glass on the nightstand. "Hey, Sammie."

Reading out, Derek brushed hair out of her eyes and she moved away from his hand. With a whispered apology, Derek pulled his hand back. Sammie closed her eyes and snuggled into her pillow.

"Sammie, please eat for me."

"I'm not hungry."

"Sam, you've got to be hungry."

"I don't _have_ to be anything," Sammie snapped.

"Andria said you haven't eaten any–"

"Oh really? You and Mum are busy talking about me? Just deciding my wants and needs without even asking me?"

"Sam–"

"No, I hate this," Sammie threw the blankets off of her and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. "You can't make my choices for me."

"Sammie, I'm not trying to make–"

"Shut up!" She covered her ears with her hands. "Stop it. Just stop it! Everything you've ever said to me has been complete and total crap."

"Baby Girl–"

"Don't! I'm not your 'Baby Girl'!" Sammie pushed herself off the bed, her arms crossed over her chest. "Nick loved me and I put him in jail because you wanted me too!"

"Sammie, Nick didn't love you," Derek shook his head. "He was hurting you. He hurt you, Sam."

"He wasn't–"

"I took you to the hospital, Sam," Derek's voice broke and everything in him felt heavy. "You can't tell me he wasn't hurting you. I saw it. I saw your face, I held the jacket covered in _your_ blood. I listened while the doctor…" Derek closed his eyes and paused for a second. "Sammie, I listened while the doctor told the nurse about the bite marks on your legs. Four of them were completely healed, Sam. Completely healed. How long was he raping you, Sammie? How many times did he rape you before you ran to me for help?"

"Nick loved me."

"Nick tried to kill you," Derek's voice strained with pain and he couldn't fight the tears welling in his eyes. "Sam, Nick could have and would have killed you. What would have happened to everyone who loves you if he'd killed you? Your brother? James loves you. You mean the world to him. Your mom? Sam, she hates herself for letting this happen, she hates not being able to help you. What would happen to her if you died? What about your grandparents? Aunts? Uncles? Your cousins? Your friends? Keira? Me?"

Sammie didn't respond.

"I love you, Sammie-Girl," Derek whispered, everything in him tense with a desperate effort not to break down. "I couldn't let him kill you. I couldn't, I can't sit by and let you be hurt. Samantha Shane Murdoch, you are the single most important person in the world to me and I can't let you get hurt. You're too important. I know this hurts you, but this you'll get over. You'll find someone right for you, Sam. Someone who can really make you happy and… Someone better for you. Someone who won't ever hurt you."

"Nick never left," Sammie spat, pushing past Derek and out of the room. He heard a door slam and his head dropped forward. Staring at the ground, trying to hold himself together, he saw Sammie's precious doll lying face down on the floor besides the bed. Without thinking, Derek bent over to pick up the doll and stared into the brown eyes that opened when he held it upright. He sat down on the tan carpet, leaning against the wall. He just looked at the doll in his hands while he straightened her purple dress and tried to smooth out the brown hair that had been combed through so many times it would never lie completely flat again.

Derek couldn't stop the tears from falling or silent sobs from contorting his face and shaking his shoulders as he closed his eyes against the doll in his lap. No girl had ever gotten to him this way, in any way, really. Every girl he 'dated' or fooled around with in college he'd held at a distance. They used him and he used them. It had always been mutually understood that nothing was exclusive; there were never strings, never expectations of anything more than that moment. He'd never wanted them, anyone, close. He never wanted anyone to find out what hid beneath his athletic, handsome confidence and never gave anyone a chance.

But Sammie – she'd broken through ever defense he'd ever erected simply by reminding him of himself. He saw his own pain in her eyes and slipped. He let her in, _invited_ her in. He let her rely on him and confide in him; he let her show him her entire heart, something physically impossible in one night. And, in turn, he'd slowly shown her him. He opened to her in a way he hadn't opened to anyone in years. Somewhere in there, between the phone calls and the walks and the laughter and the tears, he'd fallen in love with her.

And now he'd hurt her. She was hurting and he was hurting. All because he had let someone in.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

Derek lay on his back staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom. He couldn't sleep. He'd been staring at the ceiling for at least an hour listening to the sounds outside his apartment. His thoughts refused to give him peace, refused to let him sleep. So much ran through his head that he had difficulty deciphering them, much less quieting or ignoring them.

When he couldn't stand looking at the ceiling any longer, he rolled out of bed, meandering through the apartment to the second bedroom. He had just picked up his boxing gloves when he realized he couldn't start boxing now. The people below him would definitely not appreciate that at this hour. Dropping the gloves back down, Derek looked around absently.

His computer sat in the corner. Next to it waited his printer.

Derek walked over and pulled a few blank sheets of paper out of the printer and sat down at the desk, grabbing a pen out of the FBI mug his sisters gave him when he was accepted into the Police Academy. The first pen didn't work and he tossed it across the room into the trashcan by his set of weights. He paused with a fresh pen poised over the blank piece of paper before pressing the tip down.

_"Dear Sammie,"_

o o o o

"_How long has it been since someone touched part of you other than your body?" – Laurel Hoodwrit_

* * *

**A/N:**

**Happy Thanksgiving, yall! I hope yall had a great holiday! I did. I still am. Went to over to Aunt Numero Uno's apartment and had dinner with Mum, LB, Aunt Numeros Uno and Dos, and Uncle Uno. Spent the day there - had soooooo much good food, and then A&M BEAT THE HELL OUTTA t.u.! WHOOP! Spent several hours over at Squishies' house with him and Sir Poof. Friday went to lunch at Red Robin with Squish, Sir Poof, and KAFF (I love her BFFs FOREVVAAAA hahahaa) and then we went to go see Tangled in 3-D. If you haven't seen Tangled, it's really, really good. I loved it. Saw the new apartment we're moving into on Wednesday. Then went over to Kaff's and we took my dog for a walk, hung out with Ema (Kaff's mum) and theeeeeennnn... I went home. And 3 of 5 brothers were there. Happy Thalia. Yall know how much I love having my brother's home. We ordered 3 large pizza's for them and a small one for me and mum. Mum and I had a CM marathon while the boys were upstairs watching (read: completely loosing it over) some basketball game. Then they played Zombie Slayer and that's when the real party started. When they're up there playing games and jumping around, it sounds/feels like the whole house is going to fall down. Darn those football bodies. haha Then BB#3 jumped in the pool. He just stripped down to his boxers and jumped into the pool. I know we're in Texas, but it was 34 degrees! AND HE JUST JUMPED IN THE POOL. All because his brothers said he wouldn't. Not only is my family insane, we attract insanity too. And we love it.**

**Mum and I are going to Houston tonight to see The Nutcracker. I can't wait. I love The Nutcracker. My mum was a professional ballerina when she was younger and before she blew out her knee and she was in The Nutcracker. My mum's so cool. She's my hero. I wanna be her when I grow up. And Karen Kingsbury. I wanna be her too. But mostly my mum.**

**Also - Don't forget to vote in the ****Profiler's Choice Criminal Minds 2010 Fanfic Awards for this story under "Best Characterization of Derek Morgan! Just send a PM saying "Best Characterization of Derek Morgan - Cracked Concrete by Gratiae" to Profiler's Choice CM Awards. Voting ends at 11:59 PM EST on 30 November, so that's next Tuesday! The links are on my profile page!**

******Okay... I have to start packing up what's left in my bedroom. I hope you liked this chapter and, please, tell me what you think - good or bad!**

******Love, Thalia**

******P.S. 30 NOVEMBER! GO VOTE! [:**


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.**

* * *

_"__There are many things in life that will catch your eye, but only a few will catch your heart… pursue those." – Michael Nolan_

o o o o

5 May, 2000

Derek jogged from where he parked his bike towards the brightly lit soccer pitch. He'd worked through the first half of James' last soccer game of the year, but really wanted to see the second half. Handing over five dollars, he hurried through the gate and up the metal stairs towards the bleachers. Finding the Campaniello gamily members was easy and Derek headed for them, taking a second to glance at the scoreboard.

Three to one, Bulldogs, two minutes into the second half.

James had let in a goal. The teen wouldn't be happy about that, but they were still winning, so all was well.

"Hey, Gia," Derek sat at the first opening and smiled when the little girl waved wildly.

"They scored on James, but he stopped, like, a bazillion!" Gia bumped her way past a few cousins to plop herself down next to him.

"A bazillion?"

"Yup," Gia nodded enthusiastically.

"Well, that's pretty impressive."

"Did you catch the bad guys?"

"Caught the bad guys," Derek nodded, despite the fact that all he'd done today was give out speeding tickets and respond to a car accident. It was easier to pacify Gia than try to explain that police officers did more than 'catch bad guys.'

"C'mon, boys! Let's go!"

"Thatta boy, Chris! Take 'em down!"

"Nice pass!"

"Go! Go, go, go!"

"What? Oh, come on, ref!"

Derek cheered and groaned with the rest of the crowd in the bleachers as the Bulldogs clawed their way to a five-to-two victory. The entire game, he had kept one eye on the pitch and one eye looking for Sammie. James told him she was coming home today to see the last game, but he couldn't see her anywhere. She was the only blonde; she was always easy to spot, but he couldn't find her today.

"Gia, where's Samantha?"

"There," Gia pointed and Derek looked. Sammie wasn't there.

"No, Gia, where's Sammie?"

"Right there," Gia said insistently and rolled her eyes.

Derek looked closer this time, studying each person, knowing even as he looked at them that they weren't Sammie. Antonio, Marco, Paula, Nico, Daniela… no Sammie. He was about to look back at Gia a third time when he saw Sammie's eyes. Except, the rest of Sammie didn't look like Sammie.

Her beautiful blonde hair was gone. Chopped off and cut short in a boy's cut, her hair had been dyed a dark brown that matched her brothers. Derek couldn't say anything. He just stared in complete shock. Even when she turned and looked him straight in the eyes, he couldn't seem to respond.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

"Sammie!" Derek caught up with her in the parking lot and she seemed to tense before turning around.

"Derek."

"You cut your hair."

"I did."

"Why?"

"I'm starting over. I needed something different."

"Are you just never going to talk to me again?" Derek asked her, reaching out to stop her from turning again.

"That was kind of the plan."

"Sam, please. Don't–"

"Derek, stop," Sammie pulled away and raised her hands. "You chose this. You picked this. I can't do this, Derek. I can't be your friend. I want more than that. I can't do this."

"Angel–"

"Don't!" Sammie's face was twisted now and she looked away. "Derek, this is killing me. Knowing that you want what I want and it doesn't even matter is killing me. I can't do this, Derek. I'm not strong enough to be your friend."

"I'm sorry…" Derek's hand fisted around the envelope in his pocket, the envelope that had her name scrawled across the front. "I'm sorry."

"Derek," Sammie called his name as he started to walk away and he turned around. "We can still be polite. We don't have to, ya know, go out of our way to avoid each other or anything."

"Okay," Derek nodded sadly and raised a hand in goodbye before turning again and heading towards his bike.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

13 May, 2000

"When are you and Sammie going to stop acting like morons?" James asked as he threw the football to Derek.

"James, it's complicated."

"Please," he rolled his eyes and caught the ball. "You love her, she loves you, birds sing, deer make beds, there's something about a poison apple and dwarfs and an evil witch and everyone lives happily ever after. If I can figure it out, it's not that complicated."

"It's a little more complicated then deer and dwarfs."

"Only because you two are making it complicated."

"Kid, a few months ago you were warning me away from Sam. Can we go back to that?"

"Nope. That ship's lying right next to the Edmund Fitzgerald."

"Great."

"She's leaving in a week. And she's gonna be gone all summer with Vanguard. You need to–"

"Okay. Stop. What is going on? Why do you want me with Sammie so much?" Derek held onto the ball and stared at the teen.

"I just… it'd be really cool to be your brother."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

20 May, 2000

"Sam, don't you need more shampoo than just that?" Derek asked, gesturing at the two tiny, travel-sized bottles of shampoo sitting with her toiletries. He stood waiting for James in the Murdoch's living room where Sammie had all her things laid out as she pack to leave for drum corps.

"Nope. That's all I need."

"That's never going to last the entire summer."

"I know," Sammie nodded, counting her pairs of socks. "I don't need shampoo."

Derek tried not to make a face, but James saw as he ran down the stairs and started laughing. "Bzzz…" James made a sound like a bee and laughed again. Derek just looked confused. Grabbing a photograph off a table next to where he stood, he tossed it to Derek who caught it without thinking.

"What is this?" he looked down at the picture of four cymbal players in green, white and red uniforms holding their gleaming cymbals in their left hands and their feathered Aussies in their right. All four sported fearsome expressions and a shiny bald head. "You're… you're shaving your head?"

Sammie simply nodded.

"Why?" Derek asked incredulously and studied the photograph again. He was still having trouble getting used to Sammie's short, brown hair and simply couldn't imagine her completely bald, even as he looked at the photograph. He still missed her long, blond hair.

"It's the uniform. Tradition. The cymbal players shave their heads. I'm only the third female cymbal player Vanguard's had. The others did this weird Mohawk thing to keep some hair, but it seemed stupid to me."

"You shave your head every summer?"

"Since ninety-eight when I made the cymbal line," Sammie shrugged. "James, where are my shorts?"

"Dryer."

"Are they done?"

"I dunno."

"Can you check?"

"Nope."

"Can you say 'my sister will not miss me' in Russian?"

"I can say it in Italian."

"Thanks, 'cause I didn't already know how to do that," Sammie rolled her eyes and pushed herself up off the floor. Derek looked at the mass of things on the floor and wondered for a second how she planned to fit it all in those bags. He stopped on a folded red t-shirt on the couch sporting a Post-It with his name on it. Picking the shirt up, he peeled the Post-It off and looked down. Across the chest, 'VANGUARD' was printed in big, capitalized letters and "Santa Clara" was much smaller across the top of the larger word.

"It should be the right size," Sammie said casually as she came back with a load of shorts. "If it's not, you can take Dad's."

"Are you sure?" Derek asked tentatively. He looked down at the olive branch and then back up at her. She bit her lip, but nodded and turned back to packing.

"James! Stop stealing my expensive headphones, you little thief!"

ooo ooo ooo ooo

21 May, 2000

He wasn't sure if he should really be here, but he didn't want Sammie to leave without saying goodbye. So he made his way through the airport towards the terminal James had told him she was leaving from. He heard James laughing before he saw any of them. It was just the three of them, Andria, James and Sammie, and Derek was a little surprised that more of their family hadn't turned up to see Sammie off.

"Derek!" James grinned widely and Sammie turned to look were James was looking. Her lips thinned a little, like she didn't really want him there and his stomach twisted a little. He wouldn't stay long. He just had to give her the letter before she left. At least give it to her.

"Hey, Sam," he said just loud enough to be heard. "I just wanted to tell you to be safe and to give you this." Derek reached into the pocket of his leather jacket and pulled out the now-wrinkled white envelope. "You don't have read it. I just want you to have it."

"Okay," Sammie took the letter and looked at it for a second before shrugging her duffle bag off her shoulder and slipping the letter into the front pocket. "Thanks. I'll see you – Pej!"

Sammie ran a few steps away with a wide smile and Derek turned to watch her run into the arms of an annoyingly good-looking guy, who just laughed and dropped his stuff to hug her.

"I was wondering when you were gonna get here," Sammie laughed and hugged him again.

"I got new plates," the Middle Eastern man told her, handing her a circular, padded bag.

"New plates? Are they good? Ohhh… twenty-fours?"

"Naw, twenty-six inches."

"Nice! We're marching twenty-fours though," Sammie ran a finger over the gold metal as she peeked into the bag.

"Hey, I need _something_ to play with. Keira here yet?"

"Not yet. She called me a little while ago. Something about loosing her spare mouth piece. She should be here soon. Pej, you remember my mum and brother," Sammie gestured as they came up.

"Yeah, oh course."

"This is Derek Morgan. Derek, this is Pejmon Amirpour. He joined cym-line the year before I did."

"Nice to meet you," Pejmon stuck out his hand and Derek shook it reluctantly, doing his best to keep a smile on his face.

"Yeah, you too."

"I'm gonna go grab some water," Pejmon turned back to Sammie. "I'll be back."

"Don't get lost!"

"I did _not_ get lost last time! That was all Lee's fault."

"Whatever you need to tell yourself, Pej," Sammie laughed and shook her head.

Derek watched Sammie smile and laugh, not liking that some other guy was the reason instead of him. But she was right. He'd chosen this, not her. He was the reason she wasn't smiling and laughing because of him.

"You be safe, okay?" Derek said when she was close to him again.

"I will," she nodded and smiled tightly.

"Just let me know you're safe every once and a while. A page or something."

"Okay."

Derek nodded and waved before walking away. He got as far as the main walkway before turning back and calling her name. "Kick some ass, okay, Sam?"

She gave him the first real smile directed at him since George's funeral and nodded. "We will. SCV's gonna beat those Blue Devils this year. No ties for first this time. They're going down."

Derek really did mean to leave the airport, but somehow he ended up standing a few terminals over and watching as her plane taxied down the runway and took off. The plane where she was probably sitting between Pejmon and Keira and laughing happily, looking forward to a summer of music and marching and her friends. It was probably the best for her – a distraction, get her mind off of him and let her heal. For him, it was going to be hell.

o o o o

_"__Loving can cost a lot but not loving always costs more, and those who fear to love often find that want of love is an emptiness that robs the joy from life." – Merle Shain_

_

* * *

_

**A/N:**

**Well, we officially do not own my house anymore. That makes me sad. Mum signed the papers this morning and they're in the apartment now. I hate this, but there's nothing I can do about it. Oh well. ON TO HAPPIER STUFF.**

**Santa Clara Vanguard is a real, live drum corps. They're from Santa Clara, California and are AWESOME. They're one of my top three favourites - SCV, Phantom Regiment and the Cavaliers. All three are amazing. Anyways, SCV is one of the few corps that still march plate lines (aka cymbal lines), though it's becoming popular again and corps are bring them back. But that's not the point. The Vanguard cymbal line is THE BEST OF THE BEST. Any cymbalist marching corps worth anything wants to be on the SCV plate line. I mean, they are FIERCE. They will kill you. Okay. No, they won't. They're, like, the sweetest guys ever (I've met them at DCI events), but if you see them when they're preforming or practicing, you will mess yourself. They are some scary mofos. (Also, they have wickedly gorgeous arms and GREAT butts.) For proof - visit YoutTube and watch the videos "Viper" by JoeSplash and "SCV Cymbal Line" by Gansitus (really great butt shots in this one).**

**The real SCV plate lines for the years Sammie has been on it are as follows: 1998-Raf, Tommy, Peter, and Boney; 1999-Vega, Tommy, Peter, and Shawn; 2000-Brandon, Tommy, Vega and Sarge. I think it's only fair to let you know who the real badasses are before I fictionalize them.**

**Okay. I'm hungry. I'm going to get food. BAI.**

**Also - Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it and, please, tell me what you think - good or bad!**

**Love, Thalia**

**P.S. I know this chapter seems kind of filler-ish and, in a lot of ways, it kinda is. It's a lot of set-up. And, in my opinion, a much needed break from the emotional and dramatic stuff that's been going down. **


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.**

* * *

"_We choose those we like; with those we love, we have no say in the matter." – Mignon McLaughlin_

o o o o

6 June, 2000

"Happy birthday to ya, happy birthday to ya! Happy birthday!" Fran lead her daughters in a laughing, off-key chorus of 'Happy Birthday.'

"Your cake's made of goo and you forgot to chew. You're looking slightly blue so we'll sell you as glue!" Desiree and Sarah pushed the last chorus out in a rush before Derek could blow out the candles on his cake or their mother could hush them. Derek laughed as he blew out the candles and, as a result, over half the candles were still lit when he stopped.

"Oh, c'mon, Der," Sarah teased. "You can do better than that. We all know you're full of hot air."

"I still can't believe you put all twenty-four candles on there," Derek grinned and leaned back once all the candles were out.

"Well, pretty soon we won't be able to fit all the candles on there," Desiree joked. "Have to get it in while we can, old man."

"Okay, okay, kid. You're time's coming," he told his eighteen-year-old sister. "Just wait. We'll check to see if you have any grey hair on your next birthday, okay?"

"That'd just be mean."

"And telling me you're going to sell me to the glue factory isn't?"

"Whatever. You're just sensitive," the youngest Morgan teased.

"Okay! Stop it, stop it," Fran laughed and swatted at Desiree with the cake server. "Be nice to your brother. It's his birthday."

"Yeah. Be nice to me," Derek joked.

The celebration of his birthday wound down rather quickly. Desiree had to leave early the next morning to go to the freshman orientation at Aurora University and both and he and Sarah had worked long, tiring hours before they gathered at their mom's house for dinner and cake and teasing. Sarah crashed about an hour ago and no one wanted to wake her up. Desiree was upstairs agonizing over what outfits to bring to her orientation. Derek and Fran had heard the phrase 'too high school' uttered several times and Derek still had no idea what made a piece of clothing 'high school' or not.

Fran tucked her hands into her pockets and continued walking in step next to Derek. His mom had abruptly insisted that the two of them go for a walk and Derek just shrugged and got up. He was too tired to argue in question her sudden desire to talk a walk.

"How's work going?" Fran asked. "We haven't talked in a while."

"I know. Work's going pretty well. A lot of graveyard shits, but I've been getting more day shifts now. I like it. They seem to like me."

"You'll get into the FBI yet," Fran smiled fondly.

Mother and son lapsed into silence and continued walking.

"I can't believe my baby boy is a whole twenty-four years old."

"Yeah… you're gettin' old, Mama," Derek teased.

"Oh, be quiet," she rolled her eyes with an exasperated grin. "Are you okay, Derek?"

"Yeah. I'm fine."

"You've been quiet lately. You seem… unhappy."

"I'm fine, Mom. Promise."

"You can lie to me all you want, Baby, but I've known you since before you were born."

"Mom…"

"You've been acting depressed and distant since Sammie's trial. The man's in prison for fourteen years. He doesn't have a chance at parole until two thousand seven. Trust me, Derek. That is a great ending. Probably the best anyone could have hoped for."

"I know. I'm happy with the sentencing. Yeah, I _wanted_ more, because I was there. I saw everything. But I know how great the sentencing went," Derek looked at the ground as they walked, feeling his mother's eyes on him.

"Then what's wrong? What's going on? You haven't mentioned Sammie in a while. Did something happen?"

Derek wished he didn't have to answer. He wished her could just lie and tell her everything was fine, he was just overly tired. He know, thought, that lying to Fran wasn't possible. He already kept one massive secret from her. He couldn't keep another.

"Sammie and I… She isn't speaking to me at the moment."

"Why not? Before the trial you two were always talking or together. What happened? Did something happen at the trial?"

"We, uh, we kissed. Not at the trial!" Derek amended quickly as Fran looked at him in shock. "We kiss… well, we were walking outside during George's wake."

"You kissed her during her grandfather's wake? Derek!"

"She kissed me!" He protested as Fran prepared to pounce on him. "We were talking and she was saying how I was the knight in shining armour that always saves her. I told her I wasn't. That I was just her best friend. And that lead to how she didn't like traditional fairytales because the princess is always passive and never chooses her own fate. And then she kissed me."

"And then abruptly stops talking to you?"

"No, then I said we couldn't do that again. That we couldn't get involved with each other. That I was too old for her and I couldn't take advantage of her that way. We fought. She said that, if I loved her, it changed everything and I said it didn't change anything and that I had to protect her. And then she yelled at me that she didn't want me to protect her, she wanted me to love her. She got all stiff and tense – she thought I was going to hit her! Mom, I'd never hit Sammie!"

"I know, Derek. She' just conditioned to expect that type of reaction," Fran's words were quiet and Derek knew she was frazzled and having trouble absorbing all this information at once. "Do you… do you love her?"

"Yeah," Derek sighed and hung his head in defeat. "I love her."

Fran didn't respond. Derek glanced up and tried to read his mother's face, but couldn't find any helpful trace of what she might be thinking. She just seemed completely shocked.

"You love her." This time Fran's words formed a statement instead of a question. "You really love her."

"Yes, but I know you were right before."

"I was right?"

"When you said she was just a kid and I needed to stay away and not –"

"Derek, Baby, maybe it's not as bad as you think," Fran sighed and took her son's hand for a second. "You love her."

"I know, Mom. Trust me, I know."

"She loves you, assume. She'd be crazy not to."

"She says she does."

"Well… that's got to count for something."

"What? But it's wrong. I can't."

"Derek, I married your father in the sixties. Both our parents disowned us. My dad still hasn't spoken to me. But I loved your dad and Terrell loved me. I'm not saying you two should run off and get married, but maybe you should give this a chance."

"I thought that you thought…" Derek trailed off. His thoughts were racing too fast for him to keep up with them.

"I know what I said. I still think she's young. She's, what? Twenty years old? You just turned twenty-four. That's a big age gap, but you've made it work so far. Derek, at the end of the day, I just want you to be happy. If this girl makes you happy, then that's what I want for you. I'm your mom, Derek. All I ever want is for you to be happy."

"It's a little more complicated than that. She deserves someone better for her," Derek looked down at the ground again as they walked. "She's gone for the summer, anyways."

"That drum thing?"

"Yeah."

"When does she get home?"

"The championship isn't until the second week of August."

"Derek?"

"Yeah, Mom?"

"No one could be better than my son," Fran wrapped her arm around her son's back and hugged him. "Not for anything. You are pretty special, Derek. And I don't like hearing you say otherwise."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

9 June, 2000

Derek leaned back against the couch and flipped the page in the training booklet he'd been given. Apparently, he was getting a dog, a police dog, more specifically, because his request for bomb squad training had been approved and they wanted him to have a K-9 partner. On Monday, he left for the OMEMS Hazardous Devices School in Huntsville, Alabama, where he'd meet his new dog.

If he were honest, he was really hoping to get to talk to come of the FBI agents and get some information about the Behavioural Analysis Unit he'd heard about. If he were lucky, Jason Gideon would be there scouting for new blood and he would get to speak to him. Or maybe David Rossi. Derek wanted more information. Was there really a specialized team of special agents that went around the country tracking down criminals that were 'uncatchable'? He'd always wanted to join the FBI, but had been considering the Crimes Against Children avenue. Behavioural Analysis Unit, though… that sounded, well, amazing.

Regardless, he couldn't wait to get to Redstone Arsenal. It was the best birthday present he'd ever been given.

Glancing down at the time, Derek tossed the book on his coffee table and reached for the birthday card sitting there. He'd read it about a hundred times, but it never got old. The front had been plastered over with pictures of Sammie and Keira making faces and Derek had been glad she'd been thoughtful enough not to include pictures of her with other guys, like Pejmon. He still couldn't get that name out of his head and he hated it. Opening the card, he smiled at the loopy, purple handwriting scrawled across the card.

_Dear Derek,_

_ Happy Birthday! So, I couldn't find a card I actually liked at the WalMart we stopped at yesterday, so I just made one. And, I must admit, it's made of awesome. I mean, no card can touch one covered with my bald head._

_ Okay. So I couldn't think what to get you for your birthday. I looked all over Walmart (it's the only place I've been since camp started) and there was nothing I liked. So I made you a video of, well… yeah. It's entertaining, if nothing else. The coins were my change from getting the card and the glue to fix the card (there's really a squirrel with a birthday hat under the pictures). Twenty-seven cents. I was messing around with the coins because I was bored and I looked at the dates. One of the pennies was from the year you were born, then one from when I was born and then the quarter was from last year – the year we met. I just thought it was kinda cool, so I sent them to you. _

_ I have to go. Practice is about to start and I don't have my runners on yet. Happy birthday, Derek. I hope it was good._

_ Love, Sammie_

Reading the card through a few times, Derek pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed the number written on the bottom of the card. He listened to it ring for half a minute before going to voicemail.

_"Hey! You've reached the cell phone of Pejmon, Sam, Greg, and Saul. We're either practicing, running, practicing, completely crashed, or, what was it? Oh yeah. Right. Practicing. Leave your message and the person you want will call you eventually. Ya know, if we haven't passed out before managing to hit the 'call' button. Or if they accidently slit their neck during Viper. Vanguard!"_

"This message's for Sammie," Derek said into the phone after the beep had sounded. "Hey, Sam. It's Derek. I just called to see how you were. Give me a call if you have time. Be safe. I'll talk to you later."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

14 July, 2000

Sammie picked up the cell phone she shared with the other cymbal players. The first year she'd done corps, when she was in the pit ensemble playing mallets, she had brought her own cell, which she quickly realized was stupid. The high school or college gyms they slept in never had enough outlets for everyone to charge their electronics. It was easier to share a phone or camera with a handful of people – less devices to charge and cart around, plus it wasn't like they had a whole mess of time to spend on the phone.

Right now, though, she was glad she got to the phone first. If Pejmon or Saul got to it before she did, she probably wouldn't get to use it tonight. Sammie unplugged the phone and walked tiredly over to her unmade bedroll. Most people had set up their beds already, but she hadn't. She wanted to get to the showers before the rest of the girls got there and it took forever. Sammie reached into her duffle bag and pulled out her journal. With phone, journal, and pen in hand, she glanced around their new 'home' in search of a semi-private corner.

"Sam, you got the phone?" Saul asked as he came up to where the cymbal line had dropped their bags.

"Yeah. I won't take too long."

"Naw, go for it." Saul kicked his own air mattress so it started to unroll. "Want me to set up your bed?"

"Touch my stuff and die," Sammie threatened. "Last time you 'set up my bed,' you stuck fake worms in my sleeping bag."

"That wasn't me! Mike did that!" Saul protested. "I was a rook last year. Why would I mess with you? Besides – you scared me."

"Don't mess with my bed, rook," Sammie teased, a smile on her face this time. Mike, a cymbalist who aged-out last year, had confessed the next day, but it was still fun to watch Saul sweat. Finally choosing an out-on-the-way spot by the collapsed bleachers, she escaped to some bit of peace and privacy, wedging herself in the space between the bleachers and the wall.

It was quiet back here. Closing her eyes for a second, she took a deep breath. She was exhausted and feeling more than a little bit homesick at the moment. And she missed Derek. She'd promised herself on the plane to Santa Clara at the beginning of the summer that she would forget about him, move on. Unfortunately, trying not to think about Derek only made her think about him more.

Sure, Jared, a snare player, was hitting on her, asking her out every chance he got, but she and everyone else knew it was a joke. Jared's longtime girlfriend was on the colourgaurd of a rival corps, so every summer they 'broke up' and Jared started teasing Sammie about mending his poor, broken heart or some toss like that. At the end of the day, though, instead of reveling in the compliments like she had the past few summers, she just missed Derek more. Jared said sweet things like Derek did, but he didn't look at her the way Derek did. No one had ever looked at her the way Derek looked at her.

Sammie fiddled with the phone a moment before checking the missed calls. 'Sammie – Derek' had called twice this week. Maybe it was time she called him back. She'd only listened to his voice messages a few dozen times. It was almost eleven in Chicago though. She didn't want to wake him up if he was asleep and she didn't want to bother him if he was in the middle of a graveyard shift.

Glancing down at the picture tucked in the front of her journal, Sammie smiled. She and Derek sat on the couch in the bonus room with the big screen television watching the Blackhawks play the Detroit Red Wings (the Red Wings buried the Blackhawks, unfortunately) and James had snapped the picture. It happened to be her favourite. Derek's arm was wrapped around her shoulder and she cuddled close against his side. Despite the fact that her face was bruised several different colours and the stitches across her nose and under her eye looked ugly, she looked happy. She had been happy.

Typing in the number she knew by heart, she held the phone to her ear before she could change her mind. It rang and rang before going to voicemail.

"_You've reached Derek Morgan. Leave your name and number and I'll get back to you."_

"Hey Derek. It's me, Sammie. I, uh… I just called to see how you were. I guess you're not, I mean… I know you're not there. Anyways. Um… I just missed you so I called, but you're not there so I guess I'll just talk to you later. Bye Derek."

Sammie hung up the phone and smacked her forehead with the palm of her hand. "What is wrong with you, Samantha? Seriously? What? Are you just now learning how to talk? Man. Way to sound completely and utterly moronic! You'd think you'd never spoken to him before. Jeeze."

"Ya know, if you keep talking to yourself, people are gonna think you're crazy," Keira laughed as she crawled behind the bleachers the same way Sammie had.

"It's ringing!" Sammie said, shoving the phone into Keira's hands.

"So answer it," Keira rolled her eyes and shoved it back.

"I can't answer it."

"Yes, you can."

"No, I can't."

"Welcome back to high school, Sammie. Can I copy your algebra homework?" Keira snarked and refused to take the phone. "Answer the phone."

"Oh. It's Saul's girlfriend anyway. Let it go to voicemail. If I answer again, she's gonna loose it."

"Jealous type?"

"Oh yeah."

"So you haven't talked to Derek yet?"

"No. Not yet."

"Have you read the letter he gave you yet?"

"Do I need to find a character witness or something?"

"I'm taking that as a 'no.' You need to read that letter. Ya know, instead of just carrying it around stuck in your journal."

"I don't –"

"Nope!' Keira started crawling back out. "That wasn't a question."

Sammie watched Keira leave the hiding spot before pulling the creased and wrinkled envelope out of where it was wedge between the cover of her journal. Her name was scrawled across the front in messy, familiar handwriting. With a deep breath, she flipped the envelope over, ripped it open and pulled out the paper inside.

_Dear Sammie,_

_I know you, so I know it's probably about the middle of the summer before you decided opened this. I don't really blame you. I know you're hurt and it's my fault. I'm sorry._

_I know you don't really understand why it has to be this way. That's my fault too. I didn't explain it to you. I can't really explain it to you, either. A lot of stuff happened before I met you and I can't let that affect you. Too much has happened to you already and I don't want to hurt you even more. _

_I do love you, Sammie. Don't doubt that. It's because I love you that we can't do this. I love you too much to be the source of your pain. You inspire me, Sammie. Despite everything that's happened, you have this admirable faith in God that I can't imagine and that I don't share. I don't want you to start doubting your faith because of me._

_I wish I were good enough for you, but I'm not. You deserve better. You deserve someone as wonderful as you and I know you'll find him. You have no clue how badly I wish I could change this, but I can't. I love you, Sam. I love you so much that I can't be the reason you don't have the best life you can have._

_Love, Derek_

The phone vibrated in her hand and Sammie wiped tears away from her eyes before looking down. **Sammie – Derek**. Running a hand under her nose, she stared down at the phone, debating whether or not to answer Derek's call.

"Hello?"

o o o o

"_Words – so innocent and powerless as they are, as standing in a dictionary, how potent for good and evil they become in the hands of one who knows how to combine them." – Nathaniel Hawthorne_

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**A/N:**

**So... I'm not talking about the fact that Rachel Nichols is being offered a full contract on _Criminal Minds_ as FBI Cadet Ashley Seaver. I'm just not talking about it. I have nothing against Rachel Nichols! Just wanted to get that out there. Other than that, I'm so not ready to talk about this. Maybe in the next Author's Note. But not now.**

**Okay. Well. Last weekend I committed involuntary macslaughter. I killed my poor, poor, innocent MacBook. I KILLED FRAN! So I'm on Alfred right now, my iMac (which is a desktop for you non-Mac peoples). But she's still under accidental warranty, so it's not too bad. I just got my files back today (except my pictures. I have to go talk to GeekSquad about that because all my Senior Pictures were on that computer and I want them back. I think they just screwed up, because they saved everything but my iPhoto library.) Anyways! I'm so happy (except for the whole picture thing) because I was TERRIFIED that I'd lost _Mystery Muse_ and _Cracked Concrete_ forever. I'd be devastated if I lost them. But I got them back. So it's cool. I just need my photos now. And for them to fix Fran. I miss Fran. I love her. I love Alfred, but Fran's my baby.**

**Um... Oh! NAVY BEAT ARMY FOR THE 9TH YEAR IN A ROW! WHOOP! I love all the armed services - I write to 3 soldiers and 1 Marine stationed in the Middle East, so I love them all. But the Navy is a little special to me. My Grampa (my biggest hero in the ENTIRE freaking world) was in the Navy during the Korean War. So I love the Navy. Even if it did inadvertently give my Grampa the skin cancer that later killed him. Hmmm... maybe I need to rethink - no, I'm just kidding. I love the Navy. And the Army. And the Marines. And the Air Force. Not the Coast Guard though. Okay. Still kidding. (Sorry - I've had too much Diet Dr. Pepper tonight).**

**I'm watching the Leafs play the Habs (I STILL HATE THE HABS!) and we have 8 minutes left in the second period and we're WINNING! 2-0 Leafs! I love my men in blue and white! Whoop! Keep it up, boys!**

**Also, sadly, Cracked Concrete didn't win the Profiler's Choice Fanfic Award. Sad sauce. Oh well. Maybe next year. OHHH FIGHT! I so love hockey! Best. Sport. Ever. Okay. I'm out. Need to focus on the hockey game so I can watch Schenn get in another fight! OHHH! THAT WAS SO ICING, YOU MORONIC LINEMAN! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU! Okay. Seriously. I'm out now.**

**Thanks for reading and, please, tell me what you think - good or bad! Now, I'm going to go shout myself hoarse.**

**Love, Thalia**


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.**

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"_Absence diminishes small loves and increases great ones, as the wind blows out the candle and fans the bonfire." – __François Duc de La Rochefoucauld_

o o o o

9 August, 2000

"Clooney! No! Bad dog! Bad, bad dog!" Derek grabbed the thirteen-month-old German shepherd by his collar and, holding the dog's head between his arm and his side, pried his mouth open and pulled the chicken bone from his mouth. "I was not throwing that to you. I was throwing that in the trash. Chicken bones are _not_ treats, Clooney. Bad dog."

With a groan, Derek dropped the bone into trash and released the dog. Clooney just sat back on his haunches and stared at Derek with what Derek would have sworn was a smile. "You're supposed to be smart, Clooney. How the heck did you graduate?"

Clooney barked indignantly and dropped to the floor with a plop, his tail thumping happily against the linoleum of Derek's kitchen floor. The pair of them had spent every minute of the last eight weeks and four days together, trying to build that bond that would ensure the beginnings of a great team, on the job and off. So far, there had been no problems, but sometimes the dog left Derek wondering if he really was running on all cylinders.

"You're a good boy, Cloon," Derek slide down the wall to join Clooney on the floor and the dog awkwardly crawled over and laid his head in Derek's lap. "And I'm glad you act a lot smarter out in the field than you do at home."

The dog just huffed and pawed at Derek's hand until Derek reached out and scratched behind his ear. It was almost like he had two separate dogs – a focused, efficient dog when they were running drills or practicing and then a goofy, affectionate one once they were done.

"What are you doin', Clooney?" Derek laughed as the dog held one of Derek's wrists by wrapping his paws around Derek's arm and sniffed each of Derek's fingers individually. Pulling his hand away, Derek grasped Clooney's head and scratched behind both ears.

Leaning over, Derek kissed the top of the dog's head and hugged his neck. He'd only had Clooney two months, but already Derek loved the dog. They'd spent eight weeks in Alabama training together and they still had at least another month and a few hundred hours of training back here in Chicago before they'd be allowed out on the streets in any capacity.

"Derek?"

"Kitchen."

Clooney jumped up immediately and started barking, not the vicious barking he had during training, but an exciting barking, and ran towards the front door Fran had just come through.

"Clooney, no!" Derek shoved himself up off the linoleum and ran after the dog. Clooney had met Fran yesterday, but Derek wasn't ready to take chances. But when Derek got to where he could see his mother and his dog, he relaxed. Clooney was happily being scratched under the chin and Fran was talking to the dog in a high-pitched, baby voice.

Yup. That was one big, vicious police dog.

"Just a big softy, aren't you, Clooney?" Fran cooed. "Yes… such a good boy."

"Did you come to see me or the dog?" Derek joked dryly.

"Be nice, I'm letting you borrow my car," Fran glanced up at him.

"Thanks, Mama. Really."

"You're going to have to get a real car now that you have Clooney instead of just your bike. You can't take this boy to the vet on a bike."

"That's why I need your car. I'm gonna take Cloon out and look at some cars."

"Are you going to sell the Death Machine?"

"I'm not selling my bike if I don't have to. I'm just going to see how it goes. If I have to sell the bike, I have to sell the bike. I'll cross that bridge when I get to it," Derek rubbed Clooney's head as the dog sat back on his haunches next to him.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

Sammie bent over and grabbed her water bottle, taking a long drink before pouring a liberal amount over her head. Straightening up, she let the icy water trickle down her spin while she ran a hand over her face.

"You look half dead, Sam," Greg groaned as he flopped down next to where Sammie had put her cymbals.

"You look worse," Sammie poured some water on his face.

"Thanks," Greg let the water run over him without bothering to brush it away. "It's never been this hot."

"Yes, it has. Two years ago. Southwestern Championship. San Antonio, Texas. July. A hundred and two with seventy-six percent humidity. That's a heat index of a hundred and sixty-two, Greggy. Even the pit was throwing up. Half of us had to buy new runners 'cause the concrete started melting the soles."

"I hate concrete fields," Pejmon groused, stopping next to Sammie and grabbing his own water bottle. "Nothing worse in the world. When it absorbs the heat? Jeeze… And then when they let people park on the field and oil–"

"Let it go, Pej."

"I can't let it go."

"It was seven years ago! With your high school band."

"I broke my leg!"

"Awww… let me call the whambulence for you," Sammie rolled her eyes and spoke in a baby voice. "Oh, sorry. They have more relevant cases. They'll be here in three to four years."

"How's your head feeling?" Pejmon asked, sitting next to Sammie.

"You take a contra to the back of the head and we'll talk," she rubbed the back of her head without thinking. "Those boys whip those contra's around without looking. Stupid Crossmen. Should have been paying attention. Seriously? The first time I get a marching related injury and I'm not even on the field. It's in a parking lot. How lame is that?"

"Well, it's no breaking your leg during practice, that's for sure," he joked.

"Oh my God, if I broke my leg less than a week before the Championship, I'd just follow Dad's lead."

"Don't joke about that," Keira crossed her ankles and gracefully plopped down to sit cross legged on the grass. "I refuse to loose my best friend because of a broken leg. If you kill yourself, it better be because you've done something you know _I'll_ kill you for and you want it to go less painfully."

"That's an interesting tactic for talking someone off the ledge," Greg snarked and Keira threw the mouthpiece of her trumpet at him. "Why aren't you dead?"

"Excuse me?" Keira asked incredulously.

"Everyone's completely dead and you're just like, 'whatever.'"

"The heat? Please. I'm from Oklahoma, you wuss. This isn't anything. Sammie, I'm tired of boys. Lets go."

"Go where?"

"Iunno. Somewhere." Sammie let Keira drag her up and, after retrieving the weaponized mouthpiece, the two started walking aimlessly. "So…"

"So… so… what?"

"I have no idea," Keira admitted and Sammie snorted and rolled her eyes. "How are you and Der doin'?"

"Okay."

"I'm glad ya'll are talkin' again. You're happier. Poor Greggy doesn't look like he wants to hide –"

"Hey!"

"Oh, relax, I was kidding. Well, I was about Greg looking like he wants to crap himself every time you come around. He only gets that look when he knows that you and Pej know he messed up and ya'll get that look like you're about to come eat him alive or something."

"You're making me sound like psycho cannibal or something."

"You aren't?"

"Hey!"

"I'm your best friend, Sam, I'm supposed to screw with you. It's in the fine print."

"I really should have read that contract before I signed it."

"You really should have. Too bad there was a no-return clause."

"Well, poo."

"So," Keira linked her arm through Sammie's, "how's it going? Serious this time."

"Okay. It's a little awkward sometimes when one of us says something before we think about it, but other times… other times it's like nothing ever happened, like everything's the same."

"You miss him."

"Yeah. I miss him a lot."

"Ya'll two have stuck me in a crazy stick spot, ya know," Keira leaned her head against Sammie's. "I love you, love you, love you so much that, if you were a guy, I'd totally marry. Unfortunately, bald isn't your best look, so I don't think you'd do well as a guy. But that's how much I love you. And Derek… he's super great fantastical. I mean, yeah, he's hot. He should be on billboards in his underwear. I saw him at the park with James and neither of them were wearing shirts and, well, James was just gross because he's practically my brother, but, oh my god, you could have knocked me over when I saw Derek. I wanted to drool. I think I did drool. Dude, he looks better than the guy on the Calvin Klein billboard. I got totally off track, didn't I? I don't remember what I was saying. Oh. I'm back. Yeah, Derek's gorgeous, but he's great because he's such a good guy. And he really loves you. But he's four years older than you. I mean, you're still in school and he's a police officer and if he hurts you, I can't kill him! He would take me out! With one finger. And he doesn't go to church and that really bugs me. He's wonderful to you and everyone, but I just can't really move past the non-believer thing. What if things get really serious between ya'll? How would you deal with being with someone who doesn't share your faith?"

"I have no idea, Keir. I really don't. But then, Dad always claimed faith and all that and so did Nick and they… but Derek… he says he doesn't believe, but he acts… I'm getting all twisted around in my brain."

"He's a good person. Ms. Lori would say he 'behaves in a Christian manner,'" Keira smiled a little at the mention of their Sunday school leader. "What if you got married and had children, ya know, eventually. Long, long time away. Would they go to church?"

"Of course they would!"

"Derek would be okay with that? He'd just stay home every Wednesday and Sunday while you take the kids to Mass?"

"I don't know. I didn't think about that."

"I really like him. I really, really like Derek. But you're my best friend and I don't want you to ever get hurt again."

"I know. But I guess it doesn't really matter, though. We're not dating and probably never will. At least we're talking again, though. I really missed talking to him."

"Is he coming this weekend?"

"No. He can't come. He's got work."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

11 August, 2000

"C'mon, Cloon," Derek called the dog and he jumped into the passenger seat of the new Dodge Intrepid, well, new to them. It was a ninety-eight with almost a hundred thousand miles on it, but Derek didn't plan to use it often or for much other than driving himself and Clooney to work. The insurance on the Intrepid was minimal and allowed him to keep his bike, which was a big part of the decision-making.

Dropping his duffle bag into the trunk next to Clooney's stuff and slamming the trunk down, Derek grabbed the bag still on the ground and pulled out the pink sweater from inside. Derek rounded the silver sedan to the passenger side. He bent down and put the bag on the floor in front of Clooney.

"We're gonna go see Sammie," Derek held out the pink sweater and Clooney sniffed it before taking it and barking once. Derek had kept the sweater that Sammie had left at his apartment in Clooney's crate so he'd remember Sammie's scent when they met. He didn't want Clooney to jump up on her the way he did with people he didn't know. "You have to be on your best behaviour when you met Sam, Cloon. She's afraid of big dogs, so you have to be good."

It was a long fifteen, almost sixteen, hours to College Park, Maryland, but worth every second to Derek. He'd been in Alabama when Santa Clara Vanguard came to a completion in Illinois and he wanted to see Sammie. He desperately wanted to see his Sammie.

Well past dark, Derek opened the door of his motel room, the only one he'd been able to find that allowed dogs, and nudged Clooney inside then closed the door after them both. Derek fell into bed and was out before he closed his eyes, much less before Clooney jumped up on the end of the bed by his feet.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

12 August, 2000

The spot high in the bleachers of the high school offered the best vantage point to watch the corps practice. Derek and Clooney weren't the only spectators, either. Groups of people spattered the aluminum bleachers, some with video recorders, some with cameras, a few held cardboard signs with variations of "Go Vanguard!," some sporting t-shirts like "SCV Mom" or "My boyfriend's an SCV snare player" and even one that said "My baby's an SCV fan" with arrows pointing to the woman's stomach.

The corps had been practicing all morning and, according to the man who'd stopped to pet Clooney earlier, they would move to the Bryd Stadium in about an hour, have lunch, and the drumline perform in uniform in the parking lot for a while. Out of uniform, Derek could spot Sammie in half a second, but he wasn't so sure how he'd do once they were all wearing the same uniform.

He watched them circle their director and those closest knelt for the people behind them. Still with his eyes on Sammie, Derek scowled. The man from the airport, Pejmon, slung his arm around Sammie's shoulders. It helped a little that Sammie shrugged him off, but Derek really hated the man. He hated every man out here today who could possibly be looking at Sammie and wanted to take someone's picnic blanket to wrap around her.

She'd lost some weight since he'd last seen her, a fact that was beyond obvious since she, like every other girl on the field, wore only shorts and a sports bra. Sammie wasn't the thinnest girl on the field, but she wasn't the largest either and, to him, the most beautiful by spades. Derek never realized how jealous or possessive he was until he met Sammie.

"Work like dogs, sweat like pigs, MARCH LIKE GODS!"

The people on the field scattered away from the center towards the sidelines littered with water bottles. Derek spotted Keira walking with a crowd of trumpet players briefly, but returned to watching Sammie as he and Clooney made their way down the bleachers. Tying Clooney's leash to the chain link fence, Derek leaned against the fence and watched Sammie walk in his general direction with a slew of other people with drums strapped to their bodies.

"C'mon, Sam. One date," the shirtless redhead with the snare drum connected to the harness on his shoulders. "It's my last year. My last chance to get the sweet, little Sam to go on a date with me before I age out. C'mon. Just one date?"

"Oh, c'mon, Sam," laughed one of the tenor players. "Put the kid out of his misery. He's been asking every year for four years."

"I'm sorry, Jared!" Sammie laughed and flipped a cymbal dismissively in his direction. "You're just not my type."

"Please, Sam," the drummer dropped to his knees, the bottom of the snare bumping on the grass, and held his arms out dramatically. Derek narrowed his eyes and watched with his arms crossed over his chest. "One date! I beg you."

"Go ask one of the Cavs. I'm sure at least one of them would love to go with you."

"OOOOOH!' The other percussionists started hollering and laughing at the comment Derek didn't understand and Jared hung his head in disgrace.

"Sam, you hurt me. Wounded. There's no recovering from this, Sam, darling. I don't think I can go on without you," Jared clutched his chest in mock agony and Derek wanted to knock the man over. He hated listening to this man asking Sammie, _his_ Sammie, to go out with him. That punk wasn't good enough for Sammie – hell, no one was good enough for his angel.

"Give it up, Jared," the longhaired base player nudged him in the side with his foot. "Sam's got an admirer a heckuva lot better than you, anyway."

"What? Shawn, what are you…" Sam turned around and raised her left arm to use the cymbal to shade her gaze from the sun. She searched for a few seconds before her eyes fell on Derek leaning against the metal fence separating the field from the stands. Her mouth fell open a little and she took a few steps forward before breaking out into a run. A few yards from him, she twisted her wrists so the black, leather loops keeping the cymbals on her hands slipped off and the instruments clattered to the ground. Catching her easily, Derek wrapped his arms around her as tightly as he could and took the first full breath of air he'd taken in months. "Derek, oh my God, Derek. I missed you. I'm so sorry. I never – I'm sorry. I missed you so much. I can't believe you're here. Derek, I –"

Derek cut off her disbelieving gasps with a kiss that seared both their senses. Sammie's arms tightened around his neck as he picked her up and spun her around a few times, never breaking the kiss as the group of guys she'd been hanging around with started whooping and hollering, utilizing every cat-call they could come up with. Part of him wanted to keep kissing her just to make sure every last one of them knew she belonged to him and part of him wanted to keep kissing her because it had been four months since their kiss in the snow in Chicago and he'd wasted four months where he could have been kissing her and reminding her how much he loved her and how she was the only thing in the world that mattered to him.

Derek grinned against her mouth when he heard the tenor player laugh loudly saying, "You're shit outta luck, Jared. You don't stand a shot in Hell next to him. I don't know a single girl who'd want to go with you with him standin' right there. Heck, I wouldn't go out with you after that!"

Sammie pulled back for a second to look at him, but he wasn't ready to stop kissing her yet. "Mine," he whispered and kissed her again, more insistently than before.

"Don't give me this and then take it away," Sammie whispered against his neck when they finally broke the kiss for air.

"No, Angel," Derek shook his head and kissed the closest part of her face he could. "Never again. I promise. I'm sorry. I love you. Too much to let you go again."

"I love you too," she kissed him again and pressed as closely as she could.

"I can't stay away from you anymore," Derek whispered, looking into her brown eyes. "I'm sorry. I know I promised that–"

"Shut up and kiss me." They shared a few more kisses as Sammie's friends lost interest and returned their attention to finding their water bottles. Derek brushed kisses against the scar across her face and Sammie tilted her head back until she found his lips again. "Derek, I don't care what happened before I met you. I know what's happened since I met you."

"Sammie, you know I'm not good enough for you."

"Stop trying to talk me out of this," Sammie rested her head on his shoulder and took a deep breath. "Because there's not a single thing you could tell me that would change my mind. I know how good you are. You keep proving it to me."

"I do love you," he kissed her head. "That's why I was trying to–"

"I know. I read the letter."

"We have a lot to talk about."

"I know. Let me just be happy for a while, okay?"

"I heard him, Jared, ask you out and I wanted to punch him," he admitted. "And when you hugged Pejmon at the airport, I don't think I've ever been that jealous in my life."

"You were jealous because of me?"

"I came all the way out here to see you, snap when another guy asks you out, completely go back on everything I've been saying for months and kiss you, open everything up between us because I can't handle even the idea of my angel with some other man and you have to ask that question?"

"You were jealous because of me."

"You're damn right I was. By the way, your hands look disgusting," he smiled with one arm wrapped so tightly around her waist that he wondered if she could breath, trying to wipe the image of her hands away with the way she felt in his arms.

"Thank you," Sammie laughed against his shoulder. "I'm very proud of my war-wounds. They're worse than any of the guys."

"I don't know why you're proud of that."

"Hey. These take a lot of work!" Sammie pulled back and held up her hands for him to take an unwanted better look at the raw strip of skin that traveled from the apex of her index finger and thumb, over the back of her hand, around the inside of her wrist, up over to meet the other end between her thumb and forefinger. Derek grimaced at the calluses and what looked like rug burns from where the leather strap of her cymbals had been rubbing all summer long.

"That," Derek pointed at the first knuckle of her each of her index fingers, both of which had bursted blisters, "is absolutely disgusting."

"You football types. Bunch of wusses. The whole lot of you. Pansies."

"What? Take that back," Derek grabbed her around the middle and pulled her back to him, a bright, wide smile on his face. Instead of continuing the lighthearted, happy argument, he pressed his lips to hers again, their noses pressed together.

"You're really mine?" Sammie looked into his eyes and wrapped her arms around his neck. "For how long?"

"Until you send me away, Baby Girl."

"Forever, then," Sammie grinned and Derek smiled back at her. "Because I can't imagine ever wanting you to leave."

"Forever, then," Derek nodded and leaned his head down to catch her lips with his once more. "My angel. My Sam… my beautiful, sweet angel."

Forever. He hadn't even known her a year and already he knew that forever would never be enough.

Forever… forever sounded perfect, however idealistic.

With her, forever sounded absolutely perfect.

o o o o

"_Ancient lovers believed a kiss would literally unite their souls, because the spirit was said to be carried in one's breath." – Eve Glicksman_

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_

**A/N:**

**Okay. I'm ready to talk about Ashley Seaver now. I'm actually surprisingly objective about a new character. I mean, I know they fed us that toss about not replacing JJ, but, I'm sorry, anyone who actually believed that is a moron. I'm not mad that they're replacing her. I knew they were going to replace her. Do I want AJ Cook back as JJ? Yes. Of course I do. Am I holding my breath? No. I know she's gone and I know they're going to replace her. What I'm annoyed about is the character they chose to replace her. Not that she's a pretty blonde or anything like that. Or the actress herself who's playing the character - I have no problem with Rachel Nichols, so absolutely none of this is against her. The character isn't realistic. She's an FBI Cadet. What makes the BAU so special is that these SSAs (They aren't just regular agents or special agents, they're supervisory special agents) are exceptionally trained and highly qualified. They didn't just walk out of the Academy and into the BAU. With the exception of Reid, but he has some exceedingly exceptional circumstances The BAU is NOT a babysitting facility. People don't go there to finish training. They don't walk out of the Academy into the BAU. It's very, very hard to get into the BAU. No cadet is getting in. I have no problem with Rachel Nichols joining the cast. I do, however, have a problem with Ashley Seaver joining the BAU. If Ashley Seaver was a different character, a qualified character, I'd be fine. Surprisingly enough, this is the first time I've had trouble believing what CM puts on the screen for us. I mean, six seasons and I've found everything believable. Ashley Seaver is the first time I've been like, "Uhhh... Yeah right." She would have been fine for a guest spot, but I just don't believe it as a regular thing. It just wouldn't happen. Seriously... if they were going to branch into fanfiction, they should have given me a call.**

**ONTO OTHER NEWS - I'm home for Christmas! Whoop! Now I just get to help my family unpack and oh my God do we have a lot of crap. This is going to take forever and a day and then another day and a day after that and yeah, you get the picture. Okay. I'm out. I need to go get the Christmas decorations out of the trailer. Yes... we have a horse trailer that my dad morphed into a camping trailer that we now use for storage. Man, I sound like such a hick right now. Hahahaha oh Daddy... The emotional scarring you've given me. I swear, we're not white trash. I know it kinda sounds like it sometimes, but we're really not!**

**Oh. thompbrl asked about the practice scene and the shoes... Yeah... That really happened. My fish year of HS it got so hot during summer band that the soles of my Nikes (and most other people's) started melting. I literally burned the bottom of my feet through my shoes. Though this didn't happen in San Antonio. Trust me, if I lived in SA, I wouldn't be writing fanfction... I'd be stalking Thomas Gibson and his family. True story.**

**I'M OUT! Thanks for reading and, please, tell me what you think - good or bad!**

**Love, Thalia**


	21. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.**

* * *

"_There is no surprise more magical than the surprise of being loved. It is God's finger on man's shoulder." – Charles Morgan_

o o o o

22 September, 2000

"We're going to hold off on you joining bomb squad full time," Mark said as he took the report Derek handed him. "Prier was just transferred back. So we're just gonna have you on a part time schedule. Let you get your feet wet before throwing you to the wolves."

"Hey, seniority. I get it. It's cool," Derek nodded, looking down at Clooney sitting patiently on his haunches. "What about Clooney?"

"Oh yeah, don't worry. You and Clooney are just going to stay a K-9 unit for a while. You'll make the full-time move to Bomb Squad in a while."

"It's cool," Derek grinned. "Hey man, nothing can ruin this day."

"Why are you so happy, anyway? I though you'd be pretty down about it."

"Why wouldn't I be happy? The biggest scumbag in the world is in jail for at least seven years, I went to Redstone, I got to meet Jason Gideon, I've got a teamed up with a K-9 partner, and I've got the best girl around."

"A girl, huh? Shoulda known," Mark laughed and filed the report away. "What's her name?"

"You already met her. Sam."

"The victim? The one we went to testify over?" Mark looked alarmed.

"Yeah."

"Derek… that's… you need to be really careful with that," Mark tried to choose his words carefully.

"I know."

"At least you waited until after the trial. And just… don't bring it to work."

"I won't," Derek nodded in understanding. Clooney lay down between Derek's feet and Mark's desk, waiting patiently. "I know the drill. Leave personal at home. Mark," Derek bit the inside of his mouth, trying to fight the guilty feeling he always got when someone showed incredulous surprise and wariness at his relationship with Sammie. "I tried to fight this."

"Derek," Mark just shook his head to cut the younger officer off. "It's not my business. I'll see you Monday."

"Right. See you." Derek spoke to Clooney and the dog jumped up, shaking himself slightly before following Derek out of the offices towards the locker rooms. Derek changed in silence, shoving his uniform into his duffle bag to drop off at the cleaners on the way home. His mind raced, unable to pick one though to focus on, much less interact with the other officers in the locker room. Once in the Intrepid, Derek looked at Clooney. "I haven't royally screwed everything, have I?"

Clooney just looked at him and blinked his big brown eyes.

"I really do love her, Cloon. I don't know what… Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck," Derek dropped his head against the headrest and closed his eyes. "Fuck!"

Taking a deep breath, Derek tried to center himself. When he opened his eyes and looked at the dog next, Clooney had his head resting on the pink sweatshirt he'd taken to carrying around everywhere. Derek smiled and reached out to stroke the dog's head. "C'mon. Let's go. We have places to be, Cloon."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

The park was completely overrun with olive skinned brunettes and Derek smiled when he saw the single blonde head forcing a birthday cake hat on James' head. James' batted Sammie away easily, but Sammie refused to give up and kept chasing him with the hat.

"C'mon, Jamesie! Put on the hat!"

"You're insane! I'm not putting on that stupid hat, you crazy retard."

"You know you want to."

"What the heck's wrong with you? Stop chasing me!"

"You made me wear the hat!"

"That's because I'm bigger than you are!"

"I'm older!"

"I'm stronger!"

"I'm smarter!"

"I'm faster! And if you can't catch me, you can't put the hat on me!"

"Are you just going to spend the entire time running?" Sammie had to stop running because she couldn't stop laughing hysterically.

"If that's what it takes!"

"Oh man, my side hurts. Running and laughing… oh, I can't do it." Sammie wiped at the laughing tears as they spilled down her cheeks and gasped for breath. Derek snuck up behind her and grabbed her around the middle. Sammie shouted in surprise and smacked him with the hat a few times before actually turning her head to see who held her. "Derek!"

"Hey, Angel," Derek gave her a quick kiss, knowing most of her family watched him warily. They liked him, but they didn't trust him – not with Sammie, not in a capacity other than friendship, not after what they'd been through with Nick. And Derek didn't really blame them. He barely trusted himself with Sammie.

"Derek!" James stopped next to them with a wide grin on his face. Sammie took the opportunity to shove the hat on his head as forcefully as possible, bending his ears in half under the brim of the hat. "Samantha! You planned that!"

"Ha! I win!" Sammie raised her arms in victory as Derek set her back down. "Happy birthday, baby brubber."

James twisted away from her as she pinched his cheeks and spoke in a baby voice. "I hate you."

"I know."

"Happy birthday, kid," Derek reached out and tugged the hat up so the annoyed blue eyes were visible. James scowled for a moment before smiling. "How does it feel to be seventeen?"

"Thanks. I dunno. I don't really feel all that different," James shrugged. "School feels more different. Being a junior. Varsity."

"Football game tomorrow. You guys ready?"

"For sure! We're going to kick they're butts!" James caught the soccer ball that Antonio kicked at them and turned, shouting words Derek couldn't understand. Antonio shouted back. James turned to Derek, "Play?"

"So you can kick my butt?"

"Don't be a wuss," Sammie laughed, kicking off her shoes and rolling up her jeans to her knees. Grabbing the ball from James, she dropped it before her and started dribbling towards the rest of her cousins.

"Oh, it is so on!" James kicked off his own shoes and bunched his track pants so they wouldn't trail around in the mud on the field. With twenty-five of the twenty-six cousins on the field, they were playing an awkward game of thirteen against twelve without him. The only cousin not playing was Nicola, who had only been born in April. "Come on, Derek. If you gonna be part of this family, you'd better learn how to play some real football."

With a sigh, Derek stepped out of his shoes and socks, glad that he'd chosen to wear a pair of basketball shorts instead of jeans. The game, in which only the players under ten years old were safe from side tackles and blatant fouls that no one called, was fun and exhausting. Derek tried to keep up with everyone else, but fumbled over the ball repeatedly and the younger players had fun stealing the ball from him over and over again. The twins came at him from both sides and Derek grinned as he managed to pass the muddy ball to Antonio without losing it or tripping over his own two feet.

By the time Andria and the aunts and uncles called the younger generation over, every last one of them sported a liberal coating of mud and grass. Marsala snapped pictures of her grandchildren they came up, making sure she got pictures of them all together and separated into their individual families.

"Derek, get in the picture," Marsala ordered after snapping a picture of James and Sammie. Unsure of himself, Derek did as he was told and got between James and Sammie. "Relax, Derek. This isn't going on your Most Wanted poster."

Derek laughed at that and slung his arms around the shoulders of Sammie and James on either side of him. Everyone was laughing by the time Marsala managed to snap a picture that wasn't blurry.

"James, stop it!" Marsala shouted laughingly as he made face after horrible face, refusing to simply smile normally. Finally, after he'd harassed his grandmother within an inch of his own murder, James smiled at the camera willingly and gave Marsala a good photo, not that that stopped her from leaving him with a smack on the back of his head.

"Gram! It's my birthday! No head-slaps!"

"Well, then, don't deserve them!"

"Hey," Sammie kept her voice quiet and grabbed Derek's hand to keep him from following the others.

"Hey," Derek whispered as she stretched up to kiss him and wrapped her arms around his neck. He felt a few eyes on him, but he tried not to think about them as he held her close and brought a hand up to her cheek. "Hey, Baby Girl."

"I missed you."

"Not my fault you picked a college two and a half hours away," Derek traced his thumb over the scar on her cheek.

"Not my fault you graduated and didn't go to IUCU in the first place."

"I missed you too," Derek kissed her again. "C'mon. Cake time."

"One week at home and I put all the weight I lost during corps right back on," Sammie groaned, but let him lead her towards her family.

"You look beautiful. And you looked beautiful before you lost any weight."

"You should stop sucking up."

"It's not sucking up when it's the truth," he shook his head, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, her short hair felt funny against his lips.

"I love you."

"Love you too, Angel."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

23 September, 2000

Standing awkwardly on the sidewalk, Derek stared apprehensively at the back building of the church. He'd only been in once – for George's funeral – and he really wasn't comfortable going back. He'd promised Sammie he'd pick her up though. Well, he hadn't promised. He'd _offered_. Why had he offered? What had possessed him to offer to pick her up at the church instead of at her house or something?

"What is wrong with me?" Derek muttered to himself. "It's not a big deal. It's just the back building. Not that big of a deal. Just go in." An older woman gave him a funny look as she hurried past into the building. "Great. Now I'm the crazy black man standing on the street outside a church talking to himself."

Derek ran a hand through his hair and sighed. He was twenty-four years old. He should be able to go back into a church by now. It had been six years since Carl Buford had stopped abusing him. Six years and he still had trouble. But he was with Sammie now and this building was a huge part of her life and, if he wanted to be in her life, he'd eventually have to have this building in his.

He could do this. He could go into a church. Carl Buford did not control his life. He controlled his life. If he wanted to go into the church, he could. Couldn't he? Maybe. Hopefully. Because Sammie would wonder where he was if he never showed.

With a deep breath, Derek walked up the steps and into the building without giving himself a chance to change his mind. As soon as the door closed behind him, he could hear her voice.

"I will live my voice to worship You, my King. I will find my strength in the shadow of your wings!"

Derek followed her voice until he reached an open door leading to a large industrial-looking room. There she was. She stood on the stage with an arm raised and her head back. Keira stood a little off to the side with an acoustic guitar. There were three other people Derek didn't know, a boy on base, and one on drums, and a girl playing the keyboard. His eyes didn't stray from Sammie long.

"A little less base, Jeremy. And you're a little flat on the A string," Sammie turned away from the microphone.

"Yeah, I was hearing that," Jeremy nodded and began adjusting his strings.

"That was good, guys. Let's see how we are on 'Open the Eyes.' That one was kind of rough last time," Keira spoke up. "You have the lyrics down this time, Sam?"

"Ha, ha, ha. Yes. I got it," Sammie stuck her tongue out and rolled her eyes. The drummer began without waiting for the two and Keira caught up easily. Sammie closed her eyes. "Open the eyes of my heart, Lord, open the eyes of my heart. I want to see You, I want to see You."

"They're very good aren't they?"

Derek jumped a bit at the deep voice next to him and turned to see Father Berlsuconi standing there. "Yeah. They are. Sammie says she can't sing, but she's really good."

"You seem uncomfortable."

"Uh, no. I'm fine."

"Shining in the light of Your glory. Pour out Your power and love as we sing holy, holy, holy!" Derek watched as Sammie danced in place and sang. She looked so beautiful.

"Then why are you so tense? This is supposed to be a place of peace."

"I…"

"You don't have good experiences in church?"

"Not really," Derek admitted before he thought about it.

"I understand," Father Berlsuconi nodded. "Hopefully, we can change that." Derek nodded noncommittally as they began a final song. "She's really an inspiration for faith, isn't she? So many would have given up on God after what she's been through, but she hasn't. It's made her faith that much stronger."

Again, Derek nodded noncommittally. He didn't know what to say. He agreed with him, but had nothing to add. He hadn't made it out with a stronger faith. His had been broken and shoved in a shoebox in the top of his closet. God didn't care about Derek Morgan.

"So wake the hope that slumbers in my soul. Stir the fire inside and make it glow. I'm trusting in a love that has no end. The Saviour of this world has called me friend and I, I've been invited with the Son. Oh I, I've been to come and believe the unbelievable! Receive the inconceivable and see beyond my wildest imagination. Lord, I come with great expectations!"

"I hope you'll join us for Mass one Sunday, Derek. It would be a pleasure to have you," Father Berlsoconi put a hand on the younger man's shoulder and gave him a look that made Derek feel x-rayed. "I'll be praying for you."

The priest left without another word and Derek almost wanted to chase after him and demand to know what the look had been for. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the wall. He wasn't sure how he felt about having a Catholic priest praying for him.

"Derek!" Sammie grinned widely when she saw him and put the box down and hopping off the stage. She weaved her way across the room until she got to Derek. She gave him a quick side hug and let go.

"Hey Angel."

"I'm almost done."

"Take your time. I'm not going anywhere." Unfortunately. Because he'd really like to get out of this building.

"Chyeah… especially because if you leave me here, Claudio and Tony will hunt you down."

"Only them?" Derek grinned. Sammie just smiled and hurried back to the stage.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

Derek looked down at the girl curl up on the couch next to him and wondered for a second if this really was his life. How in the world did he deserve to have his arm around the most wonderful girl in the world and have her want to be next to him not because he was the most good looking male in the room or because he was the star on the gridiron, but because she loved who he was as a person? How had his life gotten here? How had he gotten so lucky?

Smiling slightly, Derek dropped a kiss on the top of her head, laughing noiselessly at the prickly feeling on her growing hair against his lips. She had about an inch of hair now, but it still tickled slightly. Sammie tilted her head to look at him and smiled, stretching a few inches to kiss him. He was allowed to do that now. He was allowed to kiss her whenever he wanted now.

"I like this," Sammie said quietly, cuddling closer than she had been before.

"The movie?"

"No, well, yes. I like the movie. But no, that's not what I meant. I meant, I like this. You and me. Us. I like… I like this. Wow. That was pathetic. Jeeze Louise, no wonder I sucked so much in that poetry unit in high school," Sammie shook her head and rolled her eyes at herself, but Derek only smiled.

"I like this too, Baby Girl."

"Derek?"

"Hmm?"

"Is this real?"

"If it isn't, I don't want to wake up," Derek leaned down slightly, first kissing the scar beneath her eye before pressing his lips to hers.

"Why do you do that?" Sammie asked when he pulled away.

"Do what?"

"Kiss my scar."

Derek didn't answer at first. Instead, he chose to tug her into his lap and cradle her as closely as he could. Sammie didn't protest; she melted against his chest and enjoyed the way his arms wrapped around her. "I hate that you've been through what you've been through and that I can't change it."

"So you're just going to kiss the scar until you manage to kiss it all better?" Sammie smiled up at him.

"Yes," Derek nodded because he didn't have a better answer to give. Sammie tucked her head beneath his chin, turning back to the movie, and Derek hugged her tightly. He would never give this up. Not for anything. He didn't care how many times he had to go to church – he'd do whatever he had to to keep this, to keep her. "I love you, Sammie-Girl."

"Shhh! You're ruining the best part of the movie."

o o o o

"_That thing. That moment when you kiss someone and everything around you becomes hazy and the only thing in focus is you and this person. And you realize that that person is the only person you're supposed to kiss for the rest of your life. And for one moment you get this amazing gift, and you wanna laugh, and you wanna cry... 'cause you feel so lucky that you found it and so scared that it'll go away all at the same time." – Abby Kohn and Marc Silverstein_

_

* * *

_

**A/N:**

**Aren't they just so cutesie? **

**Anywhooo... The boys had their football banquet yesterday! They're so adorable. BUT OH MY GOODNESS IT TOOK FOREVERRRR. I thought I'd die before it was over. But I got a great picture of LB, BB#2 and BB#4 together. BB#3 wasn't there and I dunno why. It made me sad because it's awkward having the football picture with only three of them. **

**Soccer season started last week and I'm GOING TO DIE. I'm going to freeze to death and they're going to find me in the morning dead on some bleachers. So, keep an eye out on your morning news for some twenty-year-old redhead found frozen to metal bleachers in Texas. LB won the first scrimage against the alumni, lost the second one 2-3, and won the one on Tuesday 1-0. He's the keeper, so I flip out every time they ball gets near him. "GET IT AWAY! NO! DON'T DO THAT, YOU MORON! Oh my, God, I can't watch!" But he made a great cover and a beautiful dive catch on Tuesday. I'm so proud. Another game tonight. I'm going to go by thermal underwear. True story.**

**HOCKEY IS OHMYGOD AWESOME! The Canucks are leading the NHL by 3 whole points! It's like heaven in my house right now. Except it's cold. And heaven isn't cold. At least not for me. Heaven is very hot for me. Like 95 degrees hot.**

******-JUICY NEWS ALERT-**

******I am having a contest.**

**The contest is for a one-shot of something YOU want to see.**

**The only restriction is that I will not write anything NC-17. Ever. And that's a promise.**

**What you have to do is send me a review, a PM or contact me on my Facebook or a DM to Callie's Twitter (links are on my profile) telling me one way any of my stories or Author's Notes have blessed you this year.**

**The submissions will be printed out and picked at random.**

**There will be five (5) winners.**

**Deadline for entry is January 22, nine days from today.**

**You can only enter once and it has to be sent in a method I can return contact with you (IE - signed review, PM, Facebook or Twitter. Anonymous reviews are not allowed simply because I can't return contact to an anonymous reviews).**

**Also, if you win and choose something that is already planned in the story, you will get a second choice on the agreement that you will not reveal your original choice until it reveals itself in the story. That part is completely on trust, my trust in you that no one will abuse my gift to you. Please, no one break that trust.**

**This contest is just my way of saying 'thank you' for being the huge blessing you are in my life. So I hope you enjoy and get cracking!**

**Love, Thalia**


	22. Chapter 22

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.**

* * *

"_I believe that imagination is stronger than knowledge – myth is more potent than history – dreams are more powerful than facts – hope always triumphs over experience – laughter is the cure for grief – love is stronger than death." – Robert Fulghum_

o o o o

19 October, 2000

Derek tugged his windbreaker around himself tighter and pursed his lips as James and the field goal team took to the field. James had missed three of the last four field goals and Derek saw the way his shoulders sagged beneath his shoulder pads. He was having a bad night.

Biting his bottom lip, Derek watched James line his neon blue cleat up with the ball and then take two steps back and three wide steps to the side. James kicked the heel of his silver and purple cleat against the center of the blue and shook himself, waiting for the whistle. Derek almost closed his eyes as the play began and James ran forward. His foot connected solidly with the ball and he hopped forward as the stadium held its' breath and watched the football sail through the air.

"Please, please, please," Derek whispered to himself. "Please be good…"

The ball slammed into the left post and bounced back towards the players on the field. James' head fell and he ran back to grab the tee before heading towards the sidelines. Tugging his helmet off, James dropped to the bench and threw his helmet on the ground angrily.

"Damn," Derek sighed and the crew of Murdoch-jersey-wearing people surrounding him reiterated the sentiment, mostly in Italian. James' bad night didn't necessarily come as a surprise to Derek or James' family, at least not during this game. It was only two days shy of the anniversary of Tom's suicide. In all honestly, Derek was surprised James was playing tonight at all.

Derek glanced at the scoreboard. The Bulldogs led by a large margin despite James' bad night, which was good, but not good enough for James. The teen would not be happy tonight. Tucking his hands into his pockets, Derek hunched his shoulders and tried to shield himself from the wind as much as possible.

The rest of the game passed relatively quickly and James managed to kick two good field goals before the clock ran out in the fourth and final quarter. Derek stood and cheered with the rest of the crowd in the stands while the team lined up along the sidelines for the alma mater.

Suddenly, as music filled the stadium, the spot next to him felt very empty. He hadn't seen Sammie in almost three weeks and he missed her painfully. Marching band, classes, rehearsals, concerts, studying and, most recently, midterms took over both Sammie's life and their relationship and, while Derek had known and expected she wouldn't be coming to Chicago every weekend, nor would he be able to go see her every weekend, he really missed her.

It wouldn't have been as bad if Sammie hadn't been growing more and more distant in the days leading up to the twenty-first. Her sentences were short, almost always sad and their conversations had become somewhat of an ordeal. Derek looked down at his cell phone for the time. Almost nine.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

"Sammie?" Derek spoke first when the phone was answered.

_ "No," Keira's voice surprised him. "It's Keira. Uh, Sammie left her phone in the living room. She's, uh, asleep, I think."_

"What's wrong, Keira?" Derek closed his eyes and leaned back against he couch, running a hand over Clooney's head. "Is she okay?"

_ "Not really," she admitted with a sigh._

"I'm on my way," Derek said simply as he stood, ignoring Keira's protests. Clooney raised his head and watched as Derek shoved his feet into his shoes before jumping up, tail wagging.

_ "Derek, you don't have to–"_

"Keira, tell me the truth. What's going on with her?"

_ "I don't know what's going on. I've known her since kindergarten and she's never been this weird before. Maybe you should come."_

Derek broke about sixteen different traffic laws getting from Chicago to Urbana, not that he was counting. Clooney fell asleep on the bench in the back of the Intrepid about halfway there and Derek had to wake him up once they were parked in the parking lot of the girls' apartment complex. Knocking quietly as it was twelve thirty, Derek waited for Keira to open the door.

"Hey," Keira held the door open, letting Derek and Clooney in. Clooney let himself be pet happily, tail swishing back and forth over the floor as Keira scratched his head and cooed at him. Derek pulled his jacket off and left his shoes by the front door. "Door open," Keira said seriously as he turned to head towards the door with a decorative 'S' on the front.

Nodding as he walked away, Derek passed the room with a 'K' and the room with a 'V' straight to Sammie's room. He knocked a moment and waited before slowly pushing the door open and peaking in. "Sam?" The lump in bed didn't move and Derek wasn't completely sure if she was awake or not. Kneeling next to her bed, he saw her eyes slit open. "Hey Angel."

"What are you doing here?"

"Worried about you," Derek sat next on the ground, smiling at her softly.

"I was the last to see her anyhow. No one's gonna lay eyes to see Lady Godiva and me. Peeping Tom watched the whole thing from the sidelines…"

"You didn't have to come," Sammie pushed her hair out of her eyes and wiped drool from her mouth as she turned the volume down on the sad song playing through the CD player.

"Yes, I did." He kissed her hand and squeezed. "My princess is sad and hurting and needs me. This is where I'm supposed to be."

"Work?"

"Worked today. Off tomorrow."

"I kind of love you."

"I kind of love you too. Talk to me? What's going on? Your dad?"

Sammie squeezed his hand. "Up here with me."

"Ground is safer," Derek shook his head, running his thumb over the heart-shaped ring on her ring finger. "Definitely safer down here."

"I'm sorry."

"For what?" Sammie apologized a lot, more often than he liked, but this time he had no idea what she was apologizing for.

"The ring," she whispered.

"Sam, don't be ridiculous. You're worth waiting for," he kissed the ring on her finger and smiled at her. "I love you, Sam. I'm gonna replace this ring one day. You know that, right? The day you graduate college, I'm going to be right there on one knee with a ring and asking you to spend the rest of your life with me. I'll beg if I have to."

"You'd beg me to marry you?" The corners of Sammie's mouth twitched upwards.

"For you? I'd do anything." Derek stretched up and kissed her softly.

"You really want to marry me?"

"I want to spend my entire life with you," he said seriously, kissing her again. "Does that scare you?"

"No," Sammie answered honestly, reaching out to touch his face. "It sounds really nice. Sitting next to you on the couch forty years from now with our grandkids all around us, yelling 'Stop that!' and 'What are you doing?' and 'Don't eat that! It's not candy!' and sitting next to you. I really love you, Derek. I want that. With you, I want that."

"Good. I'm gonna do everything I can to make you happy."

"You already make me happy."

"I love you, Princess. Do you want to tell me what's going on?"

"I just really miss Dad. I can't believe he's been gone for almost a year," Sammie's tone quieted and Derek squeezed her hand again. "Sometimes, I wonder if there was something I could have done to prevent it. Maybe if I'd walked in right before I could have stopped him or if I said 'I love you' more he might still be here."

"Sam, you did everything you could. He was sick. He had a wonderful life. He had your mom and you and James and he couldn't see it. He couldn't see how wonderful his life was. It's not your fault, Angel. It's not."

"I know it's not and I know he was sick, but sometimes I still wonder. I miss him. I don't know. I mean, I don't miss the man who died. He was mean and not there and when he was there he was mean. I guess I miss what could have been. He wasn't always bad. I have some really good memories. He started checking out when I was in third grade, but before that I remember a lot of good stuff. I don't know what I did to make him change. Mum said he was always like this, he just hid it and I was too little to notice or remember."

"You didn't do anything to make him change," Derek shook his head. "You were eight… ish. Third grade… eight. That sounds about right. You were eight, Sam. You didn't do anything. That was all on him. He couldn't appreciate what he had when he had it."

Clooney trotted into the room, finally bored with Keira and smelling the rest of the apartment. Startled, both Derek and Sammie laughed. Sammie tensed as Clooney jumped on the bed and she started inching away from the dog. Clooney, not understanding why Sammie was backing away, scooted closer, thinking it was some fun new game, and Sammie whimpered, terrified.

"Clooney," Derek grabbed the dog's collar and pulled him off the bed. "You have to be good. You know Sammie isn't too comfortable around you."

The dog blinked at him and turned to Sammie, resting his head on the bed and looked at her. Sammie, cringed and squeezed her eyes shut in terror as she reached out towards the dog. Derek suppressed laughter. The entire thing was laughable, but laughing at Sammie's fear would be bad, very, very bad.

"He's going to bite me."

"He's not going to bite you."

"He's going to bite me."

"You met him over two months ago. He hasn't bitten you in the past two months. He's not going to bite you now."

"Big teeth!"

"Big dog."

"Don't mock me."

"I'm not."

"You're mean to me."

"I am not."

"Lies."

"Go to sleep, Sam."

"Are you going to stay?" Sammie tried to act like she didn't care, but Derek knew her better than that.

"I'll be here when you wake up. Try and sleep, Sam. You have classes tomorrow."

"You can sleep up here if you want. Big bed."

"No," Derek said firmly, despite the fact that he wanted more than anything to curl up next to her and fall asleep with her wrapped up in his arms. "Ground is safer."

"Okay," Sammie rolled over and pulled the pillow from the other side of the bed and dropped it on his head. "My throw blanket's on the chair. It's not much, but it's more than nothing."

"Go to sleep, Sam."

"Derek?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you."

"Anytime, Baby Girl."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

20 October, 2000

When Sammie woke up the next morning, she saw Derek sound asleep on the floor with her purple fleece blanket over as much of him as it would cover, which wasn't very much. His feet stuck out from the bottom by miles. Cute. She wouldn't mind waking up to him every morning, but she'd probably prefer he eventually sleep in the bed next to her rather than on the floor beside the bed.

She could still remember how it felt to wake up pinned to his side, though it definitely wasn't a good idea to let that happen again. She didn't know where it would end, or if it would end, if she woke up like that again. But, someday, she really wanted that again.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

21 October, 2000

The cemetery was quiet today. Almost too quiet. It left Derek feeling uneasy and he didn't like it too much. He counted his way down sixteen rows before turning. He held nothing, no flowers, no candle, just kept his hands in his coat pocket and looked at the ground as he passed behind a mourning family.

There was nothing placed on the grave he stopped at. What he had last seen as a mound of fresh, brown dirt, was now a slightly rounded plot of grass with a simply headstone at the top. Nothing ornate, just a name with dates beneath it.

"I don't know why you're here," Derek spoke to the headstone. No one was around for at least ten yards in either direction. "I don't understand you. I don't really care to understand you, though. You… I don't get it. You had everything and just threw it away like garbage.

"I guess I should thank you, though. If you hadn't… done what you did, I never would have met them. And they're the best things in my life. I'm not sure if you care, but I'll take care of them. Sammie and James. I won't let anything happen to them."

"Derek? What are you doing here?" Andria raised an eyebrow as she walked up to him, flowers cradled in her arms. James came running up behind her and Sammie walked slowly after, looking at all the headstones she passed.

"Derek!" James shouted his name before realizing and clamped his mouth shut. Sammie's head shot up and she stared.

"Hi, Mrs. Murdoch. James. Sam," His voice softened slighted on Sammie's name. Andria stooped down to place the flowers at the base of Tom's headstone. James hugged Derek and Derek hugged him right back, whispering, "You're okay, kid. You're okay."

"I'm glad you're here."

Sammie came up next, wrapping her arms around his waist and letting him engulf her shoulders. "Thank you," she mumbled into his coat.

"Always, Angel."

No one spoke as they stood by Tom's grave. Derek held Sammie's hand tightly on his right and James held Andria's hand in an uncommon display of affection. Eventually, Sammie leaned against him and he held her.

"Ti amo, mia bella ragazza."

o o o o

"_Oh, the comfort - the inexpressible comfort of feeling __safe__ with a person – having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but pouring them all right out, just as they are, chaff and grain together; certain that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and then with the breath of kindness blow the rest away." – Dinah Craik

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**A/N:**

**So, I was expecting, like 10 entries into the contest. Maybe. Instead, I got twenty-eight. I love you guys so much! Winners shall be contacted and then announced!**

**I'm kind of blank on things to say today. THIS HAS NEVER HAPPENED TO ME! What to talk about, what to talk about? Hmm... I DO NOT LIKE THIS. So what'd everyone think of Wednesday's new CM? Spin-off starts in February. Anyone gonna watch it?**

**Okay. This is bad. I need to go because I have pretty much nothing to say. Oh! Mum and I went to Houston to see Broadway's national tour of West Side Story in the theatre and it was AMAZING! Oh my god, the dance scenes were out of this word. West Side Story has been one of my favourite plays, like, ever since, like, forever. haha A few years ago, my friend FunkyMonkey played Maria in her university play and that was awesome, but seeing the dance scenes by professionals was intense. I wasn't too thrilled with the end scene though. They didn't do the bit where they all slowly walk up and carry Tony's body off and it just wasn't as powerful without it. But besides that, it was great.**

**Okay. Now I'm seriously out. Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it and CIAO! Oh, and I love reviews. Good or bad. They feed my soul. Nom, nom, nom.**

**BAI!**

**Love, Thalia**


	23. Chapter 23

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.**

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"_True love never dies, for it is lust that fades away. Love bonds for a lifetime, but lust just pushes away." – Alicia Barnhart_

o o o o

17 December, 2000

"They're going to hate me," Sammie touched her hair; it had grown down just past her chin. Derek smiled and leaned against the doorframe, watching her evaluate her reflection in the mirror.

"They're going to love you."

"How do you know?" She turned slightly to look at him and Derek pushed off the wall. Wrapping his arms protectively around her waist, he pressed a kiss to her cheek. Everything about the way he treated her screamed of protectiveness. Sammie sank into his embrace with a happy smile, loving the way she felt so completely safe in his arms.

"Because I love you, Sam. And because you're being overly dramatic."

"I'm female, that's my prerogative. I'm also allowed to be hours late and change my mind without notice."

Derek laughed and turned her around, leaning down to kiss her. "I love you, Baby Girl."

"I love you too, Superman. Do we have to go?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure they're going to like me?"

"What's not to like?" Sammie just laughed. Derek frowned. One day, he would manage to get her to believe him when he said such things. They would probably be in their nineties, but one day he would tell her how beautiful she was and she wouldn't look at him like he was full of bologna. "Okay. Let's go."

"What are you doing?" Sammie yelped as he picked her up and carted her out of the room. "Derek, put me down!"

"If it's your prerogative to be over dramatic, incredibly late, and – what was the other one?"

"Changing my mind."

"Right. If those are your prerogatives, mine is to say it's time to go and pick you up if necessary to get you out the door," Derek carried her over his shoulder towards the stairs.

"Put me down, you lunatic! You're going to wrinkle my cloths and then I'll have to change. On second though, wrinkle my cloths, then we can be late – no. That'd be bad. I want them to like me. Okay, put me down! Your shoulder's digging into my stomach."

"If I put you down, are you going to run right back to your room?"

"If I say 'yes,' would you still put me down?"

"You guys are so weird," James stopped in the doorway to his room and stared at them. Shaking his head, he continued on towards the bathroom a door down.

"I think he likes us," Derek joked as he set Sammie back down on her feet, making sure she was steady on her heels before he let go.

"Well, considering he practically tried to call the Pope to have him bless a non-existent ring, I'd say that's a pretty safe bet," Sammie wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him before turning to head down the stairs. "Actually… it might be safer if you carried me down the stairs."

Derek laughed. "You don't have to wear heels."

"They go with the stupid skirt."

"You didn't have to wear the skirt."

"Where was that information two hours ago?"

ooo ooo ooo ooo

Fran watched from a second story window as her son helped the young girl out of the car parked in front of their townhouse. So that was Samantha Murdoch. This was the girl who had captured her son so completely. She watched as Derek slung his arm around the blonde's shoulders and pulled her close against his side.

"She's here?" Desiree asked, coming up behind her mother. "Wow… it's like seeing you and Daddy when you were younger. She must be special. She's the first girl he's ever brought home."

Sammie looked up at Derek and smiled. Fran saw the way she looked at Derek and softened towards the girl. She worried about the couple – they had so much to overcome, so much more than an age difference, but the love she saw in Sammie's gaze, obvious even from twenty yards away, lifted her hopes. If they could keep that look, they might stand a chance.

Derek laughed, leaning down to kiss her, but Sammie pulled back. Despite her trying to push him away, Derek easily tugged her closer and kissed her. After a few seconds, he let her push him away and Fran saw her face flushed red in embarrassment. Sammie gestured towards the door slightly, but Derek simply shrugged.

Desiree snickered when Sammie frowned and punched Derek, who had obviously said something he shouldn't have, harmlessly in the shoulder. "I like her," she whispered to her mom as Derek grabbed the girls' hand and lead her towards the door and out of view.

"Mama?" Derek's voice called from the foyer and they heard the door close behind them. "I know you and Des are up there watching from the window."

"He knows us too well," Fran shook her head as Desiree lead the way out of the room and down the stairs.

"Derek!" Desiree launched herself at her brother before shoving him away and pouncing on Sammie, who sported an expression somewhat akin to a cornered antelope with a lioness approaching. "Hi. I'm Desiree. You must be Samantha. Can I call you Sam? Or Sammie? I'm so glad I finally get to meet you! I was beginning to think Der wouldn't bring you over until, like, you eloped or something."

"Breathe, Des," Derek shook his head as his sister's words all came out it one rushed explosion. Shrugging out of his heavy winter coat, Derek hung the jacket up and turned to take Sammie's, but she just stood their staring at Desiree, who had yet to stop talking, with a deer-in-the-headlights look. "Angel? Coat? Desiree, breathe. And stop terrifying my girlfriend."

Sammie let Derek take her coat and was smiling slightly by the time Fran appeared. Derek hovered by her side, as if ready to jump to her defense, and it reminded Fran of the way Terrell had been the day he brought her home to meet his family. Though, Terrell really had something to fear when he brought her home. Derek's fear was in his head.

"Mom, this is my Sammie."

"Hi, Sammie. I'm Fran." Fran held out her hand with a welcoming smile.

"H-hi. It's really nice to met you, Mrs. Morgan," Sammie shook her hand. Derek smiled and leaned towards Sammie, whispering 'relax' in her ear before pressing a quick kiss to her temple. Sammie pulled back, uncomfortable with the show of affection in front of his mother and sister. Derek just grinned.

Over dinner, Sammie grew less and less tense and, by the time Sarah arrived home from her shift at the hospital, she was smiling without being prompted and joking with Desiree and Fran easily. Sarah shrugged off her coat and sat down in the empty seat between Desiree and Fran. She smiled at Sammie, but it wasn't as welcoming as her mother's or sister's had been. The eldest of the three siblings had always been the most resistant to change, the most skeptical.

"Hi. I'm Sarah."

"Sammie. Nice to meet you."

Sarah ate quickly without joining the conversation. She smiled and nodded, but focused on eating so that she was finished only a few minutes after everyone else had put down their forks. Dishes were left in the sink, coats were donned and the small party huddled their way through the cold to Fran's sedan. Before long they pulled into the packed parking lot of a brightly lit church. Derek helped Sammie and his sisters out of the car and they walked with other families towards the open doors.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

With an arm resting on the back of the pew around Sammie's shoulders, Derek watched her out of the corner of his eye. He had seen the Christmas pageant every year since he could remember. The church never revised the scrip and half the costumes barely held onto life; the few replaced costumes made the old ones look even shabbier than they really were. So Derek didn't need to pay attention to the latest crop of children prancing around on stage to know what would happen next.

"Hark! Oh, ye shepherds three… uh… um… oh! I have come from Heaven to share the good news. Today, a child was born in the city of Bethlehem. This child will grow up to be our king. He will be King of Kings – the saviour of the world!" The child playing the angel Gabriel stood on a plastic milk crate that has been decorated with cotton ball covered poster boards cut in the shapes of clouds.

"Please, Angel, where can we find this child?"

"Laying in a manger, wrapped in swad-swaddling." As Gabriel stumbled over the final word, several children wearing wings and halos walked out.

"Glory to the newborn King!" Cried the angels, almost in sync, but not quite. "He will bring peace and good will to all men! Hark! the herald angles sing, glory to the newborn king! Peace on earth and mercy mild…"

Sammie leaned her head against his shoulder and he smiled. Having her here, present at a traditional family event, made everything seem more wonderfully real and permanent. He glanced at her when she sniffed. Her eyes watered with tears and her hand clenched around the intricate gold crucifix always hanging around her neck.

"What's wrong?" he whispered in her ear so only she could hear him.

"Nothing," she whispered back. "Jesus was just born. Everything's perfect."

Her response brought him mixed emotions, so he said nothing. Part of him wanted to kiss her and celebrate the joy she found in her faith, but an equal part of him wanted to roll his eyes and a completely separate part was infinitely and indescribably jealous. He wanted to believe in _something_ the way she believed in Christ, but… but where was Christ when he had prayed and prayed and prayed for saving from Carl Buford?

"What have I to give this King?" asked the first shepherd kneeling to the left of the baby Jesus. "I am nothing but a poor shepherd."

"If only we had riches to honour him by," the third shepherd nodded.

"We can give him our faith," the second shepherd spoke and the three boys clasped the hands together in prayer.

"Faith and trust in Jesus was all that mattered to God," the girl narrating read her lines from a piece of paper behind a podium. "And for the shepherds, just seeing Jesus filled them with hope for all people. 'Joy to the world!' they cried, 'The Lord our Saviour has come!'"

ooo ooo ooo ooo

"_Ti amo_," Sammie whispered that she loved him as they lay cuddled on Derek's couch hours later and Derek smiled, returning the affection and kissing the back of her head. He tucked his arm around her middle and pulled her close so her back pressed against his chest. Clooney lay curled up in his bed across the room with his head resting on the pink sweatshirt that had once been Sammie's, but, after being carried around by Clooney for half a year, no long resembled anything other than a mangled piece of pink fabric.

"How many times have you watched this movie?" Derek asked as Sammie muttered the words along with the children on screen. They were forty minutes into the black and white horror movie.

"Hi, yeah, it's amazing. You don't need special effects and computer graphics to scare the pants off someone. Psychological terror."

"You just really love being terrified by your television…"

"That new CSI show that started in October is amazing. It's so gross! I love it. The episode two weeks ago was intense. An entire family was murdered except for the two daughters. It turns out that the older daughter got a friend to kill her family to protect her little sister, who was really her daughter, from her father – and the father of her daughter! – who had molested the older daughter and was now molesting his daughter-slash-granddaughter!"

"And you _like_ this show?" Derek shook his head.

"Well… yeah. It's completely fake. None of it's real."

"I love you," he laughed and kissed her when she turned her head.

"Even if I don't hang on every line of _Friends_?"

"Especially because you don't hang on every line of _Friends_."

Derek buried his nose in her hair and took a deep breath. He couldn't have asked for the night to go more perfectly. Now, he just didn't want it to end.

"You're squeezing too tightly," Sammie whispered. Derek loosened his grip. "Watch the movie, Der."

"I am."

"You are not. You're smelling my hair."

"Your hair smells good."

"Stop smelling me."

Derek smiled softly and closed his eyes. She had been less than fifteen miles away from him nearly his entire life and he hadn't known. His entire world had changed when he was not quite four years old and he wouldn't find out for twenty years. Had part of him known that day?

He half-listened to Deborah Kerr try to exorcise the spirit of a dead valet from a child, but the words never quite made it all the way through his thoughts. Preoccupied with the woman lying on the couch next to him, he kept his eyes closed and snuggled down closer against her. There had been twenty years he hadn't known she existed. Had they ever been somewhere at the same time and just walked right past each other without noticing? A movie theater, a park, the mall maybe.

What would have happened if they'd met differently? Earlier? Derek pushed the thought away. It made him think of everything he might have prevented had he met her earlier. He was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn't notice at first when Sammie shifted until she faced him. He didn't notice until her lips were pressed against his. They stayed this way long past the credits rolling, comfortably kissing and whispering together.

"_Ti amo_," Sammie touched his cheek as the quiet words lifted him higher that any praise ever would.

"_Ti amo, mia bella ragazza_."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

24 December, 2000

Straightening the black tie around his neck, Derek looked in the mirror one last time before turning away. Clooney watching him, only partially interested in what was happening. Derek picked up the Bible sitting on the table. The day before he'd dug the book out from the box of mishmashed junk he had shoved it into a long time ago and brushed the dust from the cover and the edges of the pages. Now it weighed heavily in his hands and he wanted to shove it back into the box where it belonged.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

"You okay?" Sammie looked at him with concern as she walked up to where he waited at the steps up to the church. Sammie touched his hand when he didn't answer.

"What?"

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine, Angel. Why?" Derek gave her hand a quick squeeze before letting go.

"You don't look fine."

"Thanks," Derek tried to laugh it off, get her to change the subject, but she just looked concerned. "I'm fine, Sammie-Girl. A little tired, but I'm fine. You look beautiful." Sammie blushed and looked down, tucking some hair behind her ear. Derek frowned a little and reached out to touch her cheek. With his thumb, he rubbed away the makeup she used to try and cover the scar on her face. "That's better. There's my girl."

"Derek!" She pushed his hand away when she realized what he was doing. A few seconds too late. "Don't do that!"

"You don't need the makeup, Sam. Not there, not anywhere."

Sammie opened her mouth in suppressed anger, but James interrupted them by running up the stone stairs in his best suit and stopping short only inches from crashing into Derek.

"You're here."

"I said I'd be here."

"So you ready to be bored out of your mind?"

"James!" Sammie protested.

"What happened to your face?" James asked when he saw Derek's smudge job of her makeup.

"James!" Derek spoke this time as Sammie turned away so James couldn't see her face. "Don't talk to Sam that way."

"Sorry, Sam," he answered without giving it much thought. Derek thinned his lips and pulled Sam as close to him as she'd let him. He really wanted her to get angry and stand up for herself, but he knew she wouldn't. She never got mad. More accurately, she never expressed her anger. And he wanted her to. He wanted her to yell at him when he deserved it, but every time he'd deserved yelling at she forced a smile on her face and acted like he hadn't screwed up, like she wasn't upset. He wanted to her to get mad. Sammie let him keep his arm around her and, by the time he let go, the smile he truly hated was firmly in place.

Angry, he walked with her and her brother into the one place he really didn't want to enter. Sammie put some space between them as she dipped her fingers into holy water in a marble basin and made the sign of the cross. James followed her action and the three entered the sanctuary.

Half of the three hundred or so the people there were people he recognized as Sammie's relatives. Keira came up and hugged Sammie before hugging Derek as well. She seemed extremely happy about his presence. Derek spent the next several minutes in a whir of greeting people he'd come to know rather well over the course of a year. They all seemed happy to see him here.

Most of the beginning of Midnight Mass left him confused and dependent on the whispered instructions from Sammie or Andria. By the time Great Uncle Romaldo left his pew and walked towards the alter, Derek was exhausted.

"Isaiah nine, one through six. A son is given us. The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; upon those who dwelt in the land of gloom a light has shone. You have brought them abundant joy and great rejoicing," Romaldo read. Derek relaxed a little as he listened. After he finished, they sang from Psalms and Derek felt himself relax even more. Another member of the congregation got up and read a passage from Titus.

"The Word of the Lord."

"Thanks be to God." Derek didn't need prompting this time. He knew what to say and responded with the rest of the congregation. At last, Father Berlusconi stood.

"Today a Saviour has been born for you," he spoke with a smile. Sammie's hand slipped in Derek's as Father Berlusconi read from the Gospel of Luke.

The church bells were chiming one by the time the Mass concluded and, as they waited to greet Father Berlusconi, Derek felt sort of peaceful and almost comfortable. Andria kept telling James to stop squirming as she tried to talk to her brother Nico, the youngest of her siblings, who held a sound asleep Gia. Sammie barely held Derek's hand with her fingertips, but leaving enough space for someone to pass between them. Her hand dropped from his as they got within a foot of the priest.

"I'm so glad you're here," Father Berlusconi smiled at everyone, but Derek felt like the words were meant specifically for him. Sammie and Andria both hugged the priest, while James gave him a quick, impatient handshake. Father Berlusconi held Derek's hand for a few seconds after their handshake ended and Derek felt that x-rayed feeling the priest had left him with before.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

25 December, 2000

"Merry Christmas, Angel," Derek smiled as she ran out of her grandmother's house when she saw him come up. Sammie jumped into his arms and he laughed as he caught her. "Someone's excited to see me."

"My family's insane," she mumbled into his shirt with a groan and her ankles linked behind his back.

"You're just now figuring that out?" He set her down on her feet somewhat reluctantly. "C'mere," Derek pulled her back as she started to move away and kissed her. "I love you, Sam."

"I love you too, you crazy man."

"Crazy?" he asked with his eyebrows raised and a smirk.

"You're the one who _wants_ to be part of this family. I had no choice. I dunno, though… today might make you reconsider."

"Nope, no way," Derek kissed her again. "I'm all in, Samantha Shane. Insane family or not."

"Crazy… you're completely crazy."

"Oh yeah?"

"Oh yeah. All five of my immediate aunts are watching us from the window," Sammie grinned. "Plus Aunt Perla and Aunt Viola."

"Perla… Nico's wife, right? And Viola's Rodrigo's."

"A plus, Babe. Next up, the great aunts and uncles and those dreaded second cousins."

"They're in the house, aren't they?" Derek groaned.

"Derek… there are so many people in that house that, if there's a fire, everyone will die because they're unable to move. They're packed like sardines."

"I'm screwed."

"With a power drill," Sammie grinned. "Still time to hop back on your bike and get out of here."

"Yeah, so they can be like, 'You ran away the first Christmas here. Why should we let you marry her?' when I ask you to marry me? That'll go over well."

"You really want to marry me, Derek Morgan?"

"Baby Girl," Derek wrapped his arms around her, "you're not going to believe me until I say 'I do,' are you?"

"I don't know if I'll believe it then," she relaxed against him and he kissed her cheek.

"First child?" Derek kissed her temple.

"Maybe," Sammie blushed as he kept kissed her neck.

"Grandchild?" Derek kissed her ear.

"Probably," she giggled.

"In the retirement home?" he turned her around so he could see her face.

"No," she shook her head, "By then I'll be too old to remember who you are."

"Ouch! That's cold, Sam!" Derek laughed.

"Kiss."

Derek obeyed the command without a second thought, taking her face in his hands and kissing her in a way that made her knees weak. Sammie pouted when he pulled back and he laughed. "Mmm, I love you, Baby Girl. But if we stay out here any longer, those seven women are going to break right through that window and fall out of the house. Either that or _their_ cousins are going to join then and the window isn't big enough for all of them."

"Are you saying we need to go in?"

"Oddly enough, yes."

"But I don't wanna. It's insane in there. And loud. Very, very loud. Don't make me go in there."

"Well, I'm not going in there by myself, Sam."

o o o o

"_Place me like a seal over your heart, like a seal on your arm; for love is as strong as death, its jealousy unyielding as the grave. It burns like blazing fire, like a mighty flame. Many waters cannot quench love; rivers cannot wash it away. If one were to give all the wealth of his house for love, it would be utterly scorned." – Song of Solomon 8:6-7_

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**A/N:**

**This chapter... IT KICKED MY BUTT! Omg, you have no idea how hard it was to write this chapter. I swear, I have bruises on my butt from where it kept kicking it. It hurts. I need ice. Seriously, though. This thing just did not want to be written. Between this chapter being ornery to the point of madness, me transferring schools and having to move my apartment 280 miles away, the great snowpocalypse we had here, _Mystery Muse_ and my own general exhaustion... I'm just glad to be uploading finally. So, sorry it took so long! I have not abandoned my baby! Sometimes it just makes me a little crazy.**

**I'm so freakin' tired. You have no idea. But I have my Saturday class in an hour and a half. Yay! Ughhh... I'm gonna need a Monster to get through today.**

**Okay... so I was watching 6x02 "JJ" again. Does anyone else find it slightly ironic that the end song for "JJ" was by Ray LaMontange? Also! It's rather annoying that, because of that episode, I get crazy sad when "Let It Be Me" starts playing while I'm listening to Ray LaMontange on my iPod. Especially because it used to be one of my favourite songs. :( I miss JJ so much. Still undecided on Seaver. I didn't miss her the three episodes she wasn't in, which I think says something. Hopefully they'll make me change my mind my the end of the season. I want to like her. Want to reiterate this, though: I have absolutely nothing against Rachel Nichols. Nothing I say about Seaver is directed at her as a person. I actually like Rachel Nichols, as an actress and as a person. It's Seaver I don't like. And it's not because she's joined as JJ and Emily are leaving. I don't find her character believable for the show. I hope and pray I'm proven wrong over the rest of the season. So my reservations about her have nothing to do with any "BRING AJ/PAGET BACK!" mentality. AJ's gone and no one knows for sure what's going to happen with Paget next season.**

**My beautiful boys in blue are dropping like flies. At least our D-men are. Five of our top D-men are out on injury, Bieksa (one of my favs) was the latest. Hairline fracture in his foot. I miss him so much. But Juice is a beast. He got the fracture early in the second of Monday's game and then freaking played the rest of the game. Wrecked. Juice is such a beast. I love him. He's probably gone ~3 weeks. Alberts (wrist), Hamhuis (concussion) and Ballard (knee sprain) all went down in ONE FREAKING WEEK! Because other teams are freaking targeting our D! Bieksa was an accident, Ballard was freaking pulled to the ice by Michalek (Ottawa) and twisted his knee all wrong, Alberts was an accident as well, and Hamhuis - OMG I HATE GETZLAF (Ducks)! It was such a dirty hit. Getzlaf jumped at Hamhuis when Hamhuis' back was turned. His head smashed into the wall and, I swear to God, he didn't move for minutes. He was lying on the ice completely still for at least 3 minutes. Someone on the ice, I can't remember who, seriously said, "I thought he was dead." AND GETZLAF GETS NOTHING! "Don't do that again." Such completely crap. Still furious about that. ****We lost Edler in January. Back injury was an "accident" coughcoughcompletebs. He "collided" with Jamie Benn. He had surgery and it apparently doing really well. He wants to be back by late April. If all goes well, we should have all of them back by Playoff time. And then, oh shit, they need to watch out. We quite literally have THE BEST defense in the entire NHL. Thats why people keep trying to injure them. Until then, the O just needs to screw their heads back on, the rookie D we're bringing up from the Moose need to stop playing like Moose and start playing like Canucks and just power through. I love my boys.**

**Okay. I have to eat lunch and then go to class. Thanks so much for reading and, if you made it through that author's note... well... I applaud your dedication! I hope you liked the chapter and, please, tell me what you think - good or bad!**

**Love, Thalia**


	24. Chapter 24

**Disclaimer: I do now own Criminal Minds.**

* * *

_"I loathe the expression "What makes him tick." It is the American mind, looking for simple and singular solution, that uses the foolish expression. A person not only ticks, he also chimes and strikes the hour, falls and breaks and has to be put together again, and sometimes stops like an electric clock in a thunderstorm." – James Thurber _

o o o o

22 January 2001

Derek and James ran side-by-side in silence, their laboured breathing, the scraping of the synthetic, wind resistant material of their jackets and pants as they moved, and the crunch of brown slush beneath their sneakers the only noise they created. They competed in some unspoken competition – neither one wanted to be the first to stop, so they both kept pushing regardless of the fact that they both would have stop somewhere within the last two miles or so. Instead, they forced one foot in front of another and refused to let their bodies quit.

A snowplow moved slowly down the street along which their sidewalk ran parallel. Ice cracked and snapped as the plow scrapped it off the concrete and spewed it along the gutter. If Derek and James stopped moving, they would be covered in dirty, slushed ice. They rounded a corner and James stopped, bending over and resting his hands on his legs and gasping to get a breath. "I've got to stop."

"Thank God," Derek bent over as well as the snowplow kept going straight past the street they had turned on. Mopping his face with the back of his glove, her stretched out his shoulders until the left popped slightly.

"Ugh, I don't want to do my shift tonight," James lifted his head.

"Bakery or restaurant?"

"Restaurant. Waiting tonight."

"At least you get some tips," Derek shrugged, knowing James hated bussing because there were no tips involved.

"Yeah. Hey! Do you think they'd let us play football with them?" James pointed across the street to where a handful of high school aged kids were played football on a shoveled area of fenced-in concrete.

"No." Derek's answer came quickly, a little too quickly, he realized a split second too late to stop the word from blurting out of his mouth. "Uh… probably not."

"It can't hurt to ask," James gave him a confused look and started to cross the street.

"No!" Again, the word came too quickly, but there was more force behind this one and Derek reached out to grab James' arm and pulled him back as Carl Buford emerged from the community center. "James, I don't want you to _ever_ go there."

"Why not?"

"Just don't. Promise me you won't go there."

"No! What the hell's wrong with you? It's just a football game."

"It's-it's a bad place, James. We'll go to a different community center. Just not this one. I don't want you at that one."

"Why not? It looks fine. See? There's even a chaperon," James laced the last line with sarcasm and an accompanying eye roll.

"Dammit, kid. Listen to me – that is _not_ a good place," Derek repeated himself; James knew Derek's teen years hadn't been a good time, but Derek hadn't told him the specific details of what the man who was supposed to be his father figure had done, hadn't wanted to admit to anyone what had happened, not even to James. James' icy blue eyes lost their sarcasm and Derek almost saw his brain working behind them.

"This is…" his words trailed off as he took another glance at the field where the boys played.

"Yeah."

Derek knew James wanted to ask more, but the teenager didn't speak. Instead, he shoved his hands into his pockets and stared at the community center for a while. "Okay. I… I won't go there." Relief coursed through him like a tide strong enough to pull a beached whale back into the ocean. He wanted to cry and shout with joy and laugh and collapse all at the same time, though he had no idea how he would accomplish all four of those at once.

"C'mon… we better get you home before you miss your shift."

"I think I'd rather miss my shift," James joked. "Maybe we should take the long way back to the apartment."

"Hi, yeah, no way, kid. Over half of your family still doesn't like me. I'm not having any part of you missing your shift," Derek's laughter rang out like a bark.

"Oh, no. They like you," James disagreed with a grin. "They just don't like you with Sam."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

4 February, 2001

_ "You are too perfect," Sammie rolled her eyes as she held the phone to her ear with her shoulder. "You know that? You're being ridiculously perfect. You are allowed to be a normal human being, okay? You don't have to be Superman all the time."_

"I'm not perfect, Angel" Derek laughed, scratching behind Clooney's ear.

"_I dunno… I have a pretty good case for my side. I think I'd win more people over than you would. You don't have to go to Mass with my family, you know. Especially when I'm not there."_

"I know," Derek said. He didn't want to talk about it. He'd gone three of the past five Sundays, because he knew going earned him points with her family. Plus… he had come to realize he liked going to Mass with them. Mass left him with a peaceful feeling that he liked, but didn't fully understand. "But your mom likes it."

"_My mum also likes Brussels sprouts, but you don't eat those."_

Derek wished she were sitting on the couch next to him as he listened to her fumble with a door. He hadn't seen her in almost a month and he missed her more than he knew how to deal with. "What are you doing, Sam?"

"_Going to rehearsal," Sammie's voice was distant, like her mouth was farther away from the phone than it had been a moment ago. "Crap. Just a second." Squatting down, Sammie put the phone of the ground and grabbed at the sheet music that had tumbled out of the folder she lost her grip on. "Okay. I'm good. I'm back."_

"Dropped something trying to open the door with half a finger?"

"_You know me too well, Prince. Are you coming to the performance?"_

"Of course. I'll even bring a sign: 'I'm crazy about the clarinetist!'" Derek joked, but Sammie took the bait.

"_Derek! You can't bring a sign! Are you crazy?"_

"Sam–"

"_I'm serious, Derek! This is not a sign sort of event! Soccer games, sure. Football games, go for it. But you can't–"_

"Sammie!"

"_What?"_

"I was kidding! Take a breath, Sam."

"_You were kidding?"_

"I was kidding."

"_I hate you."_

"I know. You're going to be home on the sixteenth, right?"

"_Yes, for the umpteenth time, Baby. I will be home that weekend," Sammie rolled her eyes and shouldered her way through a double door into a small auditorium where a group of twenty or so were already warming up onstage. "I should be home by four and I won't leave until Sunday evening. You can even lock me in a closet until Sunday evening. You just have to promise to feed me."_

"If I locked you in a closet, you'd never get out," Derek closed his eyes as he laughed and Clooney lifted his head to stare at Derek. "You'd never get out, because your family would kill me before they realized they didn't know where you were."

_Sammie started laughing as she dropped her clarinet case carefully onto her seat and plopped the folder on the music stand, trying to keep all sheets securely inside, but one or two slipped out. "I have to go, Baby. I have to get my reeds ready and warm up. I love you."_

"I love you too, Angel. Have a good practice."

"_I'll see you one the seventeenth!"_

"Sam! The sixteenth!"

"_Ha! I got the vein in the forehead, didn't I?"_

"Goodbye, Girlfriend Who Likes to Try and Kill Me."

"_Bye, Baby."_

"She's going to kill me, Cloon." The dog looked at him like he knew Derek was full of crap. Grabbing the pink sweater, Clooney jumped off the couch and padded off to his bed and curled himself around his security blanket. Derek smiled and shook his head. Reaching out, he grabbed the Bible sitting on his coffee table and looked at it. He opened the book to the page he had marked earlier with that morning's program.

"Why do you say, Israel, 'My way is hidden from the LORD; my cause is disregarded by my God'? Do you not know? Have you not heard? The LORD is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He will not grow tired or weary and increases the power of the weak. Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint." Derek mumbled the verses aloud, following the words with his index finger and hearing Father Berlusconi's voice in his head as he read.

Leaning his head back, Derek took a deep breath. That had been his mothers' favourite verse his entire life and he could probably recite it with more accuracy than most people in seminary school. "They will soar on wings like eagles… They will soar on wings like eagles. Forget this. Ridiculous. What the hell am I doing? He doesn't give two cents about me." Derek was about to throw the book down back down on the table when he stopped abruptly and stared at the picture of him and Sammie in Blackhawks jerseys outside of The Madhouse on Madison after they shutout the Columbus Blue Jackets in early December, one of the twenty-one games they had won out of the fifty-two they had played this season. They had cheered themselves hoarse, thrilled to manage to pick a game they would win rather than yet another disappointing loss. They had spent the rest of the night snuggled on his couch kissing and hugging and just generally making out like hormonal teenagers, pretending they could still speak without making their throats even more raw then they already were.

Sammie's smile melted him even from a photograph and the spot next to him felt empty. Eleven days and he could see her again. Looking from Sammie's smile back at the book he hadn't quite thrown down yet, he didn't move. Picking up the picture in his free hand, he bit his bottom lip as he thought. He must care a little; He had given him Sammie, so He must care a little if he existed.

Eleven days. He could make eleven days. Just eleven more days. It wasn't even two full weeks. Looking at the picture again, he tossed the book on the table, put the picture down with far more care and stood up. He rounded the couch and grabbed his jacket.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

"I don't know, Charlie," Sammie shook her head as she pushed the door open with the hand holding her clarinet case. "We're still not there yet. We need a lot more practice before our performance or we'll be laughed right off the stage and into the trash can."

"You're crazy, Sam," a curly haired blonde boy shook his head, shaking curls into his face. "If you practice any more, Benny Goodman is going to rise from the grave, come find you, take off the sign that says 'King of Swing' from around his neck and give it to you, because you will have left him in the dust."

Sammie laughed. "Ha! Benny Goodman would come take my clarinet away!"

"Yeah! 'Cause he doesn't want you getting better than he was!"

"You go take your tired old tenor and practice that lick you just can't get right. I'm not talking to you anymore, you suck up. You just want me to take that solo away from you so you don't have to learn it."

"Got that right," Charlie groaned, switching his tenor case from his right hand to his left. "Please, please, please take it."

"No! It's meant for a tenor. You're the tenor player. You play it!"

"You play tenor. I know you do. I saw you. You play it."

"Yes, I play tenor, but, no, I ain't taking your part, you crazy person!"

"Wow… You totally channeled Keira there!" Charlie started wheezing out laughter and Sammie made a face.

"Goodbye, Charlie," Sammie glared at him and turned to walk a different direction.

"Bye, Sam," Charlie was still laughing.

"Learn your part by next time or I really will channel Keira on you!" Sammie struggled not to laugh out her threat, but waved before turning away fully.

"You really shouldn't walk by yourself at night." Sammie screamed at the soft voice in her ear and dropped everything in her hands when two arms went around her waist. Strong arms pulled her against a solid chest and lips were soft against her neck as she tried to pull away from him. The arms dropped from around her and grabbed the clarinet case off the ground.

"Derek! You jerk!" Sammie slapped him as he stood up and he laughed, pulling her back into his arms and kissing her. "No! I'm not kissing you! You tried to scare me to death!"

"Sam!" Charlie came running back. "Are you okay? I heard you scre… Hey! Let go of her!"

"Charlie, it's okay," Sammie shook her head. "I'm fine. I can't say the same for this big jerk." Sammie thinned her lips and then smacked Derek again. Derek just smiled and kissed her check. "Charlie, this is my boyfriend Derek. Derek, this is Charlie. He's the first chair tenor in the big band."

"Nice to met you," Derek smiled and held out a hand. "Sorry, I just had a little bit of fun scaring her."

"'A little bit of fun' my ass," Sammie mumbled under her breath. Charlie shook Derek's hand and said 'hey' awkwardly before excusing himself and hurrying away towards his abandoned tenor case with his head down. "You are nothing but trouble, Derek Morgan," Sammie smacking his arm when she was turned to face him. "I should have listened to Aunt Paola about you."

"And what does Aunt Paola say?" Derek picked up her folder and dropped a kiss on her lips.

"That you're nothing but trouble," Sammie took her folder and tried to take her clarinet, but he pulled it behind his back.

"I'll give it back if you give me a kiss."

"Keep it! I'm not kissing you!" Sammie crossed her arms and left him standing there with her case. Derek smiled and chased after her. "You scared me! You really scared me and now you're just acting like you didn't do anything wrong!"

"You're right," Derek tried to hold her hand, but she jerked her hand away. "I'm sorry, Baby Girl. I shouldn't have done that. Do you want to hit me again?"

"No! I want you to give me my clarinet back and go away, 'cause I'm mad at you! What are you doing here anyway?"

"I missed you too much to wait another two weeks."

"Yeah, well, you better leave before I make you miss the rest of your life!"

"Are you threatening to kill me?" Derek bit back a smile at how red her face was with anger. She'd never yelled at him this way before and he was, guiltily, rather enjoying it.

"Don't you smirk at me, you big, fat jerk!"

"I love you, Sam."

"Don't even think about! I'm so mad at you right now I could take a frying pan right to your head like Aunt Viola did to Uncle Rodrigo!"

"Viola hit Rodrigo with a frying pan?"

"And I'll hit you with one too! Some big moron. Trying to scare me straight out of my skin. Non riesco a credere a quello che un idiota che sei. Cercando di uccidermi. Dovrei prendere la testa! Io ti odio!"

"Ohhh, you really are mad at me," Derek pulled her against his side and kissed her temple. "You're back to using the words I don't know yet. So… why did Viola hit Rodrigo with a frying pan?"

"Because he snuck up behind her on a dark college campus and scared the crap out of her when he was supposed to be in Chicago!"

Derek dropped his face into his palm and laughed. "Mi dispiace! I'm sorry! You can behead me if you really want to. I heard you mention something about my head. I'm assuming it was something along the lines of removing it."

"You didn't have to scare me like that."

"I know. I'm sorry." Derek looked up to give her the best apologetic expression he could muster while still trying not to laugh, but he didn't get the chance. Sammie wrapped her arms around his neck and crushed her lips to his. Derek wasn't stupid enough to give her a second to change her mind. Hugging her tightly to him, he kissed her in the middle of walkway next to a trashcan that smelled like it needed emptying. "I love you, Sammie Girl."

"Shut up and kiss me before I remember I'm furious with you."

"Yes, ma'am."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

16 February, 2001

"Am I dressed alright?" Sammie asked, looking down at her jeans and black knit sweater.

"You're beautiful. Now let's go," Derek tried to pull her out of the apartment.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Why won't you tell me where we're going?"

"Because it is a surprise," Derek stressed each word for what felt like the hundredth time that hour.

"I don't like surprises, Derek! They stress me out."

"You're stressing me out!" Derek shook his head with a sigh. "Sam. Look at me. No. Look at me. In the eyes. Okay. You trust me, right?"

"Of course I do!" Sammie looked indignant and put her hands on her hips the way her mother always did. Derek closed his eyes and shuddered for a second.

"You know I love you, right?"

"Yes."

"And you love me, right?"

"Yes!"

"So why do you keep thinking I'm going to let you show up someplace over or under dressed and humiliate yourself? I promise you, Sam, you're fine. You look beautiful. Yes, you're perfectly dressed, no, you don't need to change your sweater, yes, you will like this surprise and, no, your butt does not look big in those jeans. It looks so good I'm going to stare at it as you walk. Now. Can we please go?"

"Why won't you tell me where we're going?"

"It's a surprise!"

"I hate surprises!"

"Samantha! It's Valentines Day! Two days late, but it still counts because it came on a Wednesday this year! I am supposed to do this on Valentines Day. If I didn't, you'd be upset because I didn't do something special. Besides, I like it. Please, Sam. Let's go. Please, please, please, please, please." Derek made his eyes as pathetic as he could and stared at her, cuddling her close and reaching for his keys at the same time. It must have worked, because Sammie sighed and snuggled into him for a moment before moving back.

"I'll like the surprise?"

"You'll love the surprise."

"I better and, the next time you even think about surprising me, I'm going to run you over, put the car in reverse and then back over you again."

"That's my girl," Derek kissed her quickly and pulled her out of his apartment before she could change her mind. He locked the door and followed slowly after her as she walked down the stairs.

"Derek, what are you doing?" She asked with her hands on her hips again when she was at the bottom and he still had over half the stairs before him.

"I was watching your butt as you walked. Why are you so surprised? I already told you I was going to."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

"You couldn't tell me we were going to Smoke Daddy?" Sammie snuggled into his side and bit into a sweet potato fry. Derek kissed her temple and draped an arm across the back of the booth behind her shoulders.

"This isn't the surprise."

"Derek!"

"What? I never said how many parts there were to this date? And do you seriously think I would just take you to Smoke Daddy on our Valentines Day? Are you out of your mind, woman?"

"Well… you know I love the ribs."

"I know you love the ribs."

"And the cornbread."

"And the cornbread. But I'm still not scum enough to just take you to barbeque on Valentines Day. I have a little more than that up my sleeve, Angel. C'mere."

"Derek, I'm as _here_ as I'm going to get without climbing into your lap."

"No, I want the – turn your head. Thank you," Derek kissed her and she melted against him.

"I love you."

"I love you too, Sam."

"So where are we going after this?"

"No! You stop that! Why? Why can't you just let me have my fun?" Derek pulled his arm from around her shoulders and stared at her.

"Fine," she smiled at him and reached up to pull his head back to hers. "I'm sorry. You have your fun. I'll just sit here and lose my mind."

"Good. That's the way it's supposed to be."

"Hey!"

Derek kissed her to cut off her protest. "Hush your crazy mouth. I love you. Finish your dinner so we can go to the second part of Valentines Day."

"I'm finished."

"Sam…"

"No, I really am full," Sammie laughed. "I promise. I couldn't eat any more if I wanted to."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Derek paid the bill and they left the restaurant so caught up in each other that neither would have noticed if the ground split behind them as they walked. They walked the long way back to Derek's car and stopped to kiss every few moments. An elderly woman smiled at the two of them and then frowned and smacked her husband in the stomach, mumbling about why he didn't look at her that way anymore and he mumbled that maybe he would if she didn't ask him why he was looking at her that way every time he tried. Sammie didn't notice. All she noticed was Derek smiling at her and leaning close when he spoke so that his breath was warm on her cheek.

"Second part of the night. You ready?"

"I'm ready," she smiled and leaned back against the car watching him.

"I don't think you are," Derek sized her up and shook his head.

"Oh really?"

"No. You're just… you're not dressed right."

"Derek!" Sammie launched into semi-yelling as he reached into the back seat of the car and pulled out a small brown-paper shopping bag by it's handles.

"You really need to put this on."

Sammie ripped the bag from his hands and reached inside, glaring at him like she was trying to pick between various ways of murdering him in his sleep. Then she shouted excitedly, pulling out a red hockey jersey with the number twenty-one on the back underneath the name 'MIKITA.'

"We're going to the game? Derek! I can't believe you did this! And you snuck my sweater out of my room!"

"James got it for me," Derek laughed and watched her tug her jersey on over her black sweater. "Good thing he got the right one. If I'd shone up with your Chelios sweater, you'd have broken up with me."

"Don't you dare mention that traitor! Goes and turns on us for the stinking Red Wings! Dirty, rotten traitor. I ought to burn that sweater. Who the heck does he think he is? Wayne Gretzky? Leaving us for the Red Wings, of all teams. The freaking Red Wings! The man has no decency! Colorado, Dallas, New Jersey… fine, leave. But the Red Wings? The Red Wings! Ugh. Some people–"

Derek just kept laughing as he pulled on his number nine Hull jersey on and opened the door for her. She was still grumbling angrily about Chelios and he was still laughing when the puck dropped and the Hawks started their fourth game of the season against St. Louis.

o o o o

_"I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I needed to be." – Douglas Adams

* * *

_

**A/N:**

**This is all I have to say: SPRING BREAKKKKK!**

**Oh, and this - Smoke Daddy is a real BBQ restaurant in Chicago. Apparently it's good. Nom nom nom. The hockey games I talk about are also real. Apparently, the Blackhawks were in a bit of a team schlump in these years. Chris Chelios, a native Chicagoan, really did ditch the Blackhawks in March of 1999 when he accepted a trade to the Detroit Red Wings, a much hated rival of the Hawks. Hawks fans still haven't forgiven him. He was boo-ed in Chicago last December when the Hawks decided to have a "Chris Chelios Heritage Night." All the while, I'm quite sure, my friend BrilliantDarkness, very much a Red Wings fan, was cackling hysterically.**

**Okay. That's it. I'll say it again, though: SPRING BREEEEAAAAAAKKKKKK! WHOOP!**

**Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it, and tell me what you think - good or bad!**

**Love, Thalia**


	25. Chapter 25

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds**

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"_We're never so vulnerable than when we trust someone – but paradoxically, if we cannot trust, neither can we find love or joy." – Walter Anderson_

o o o o

15 April, 2001

"Happy Birthday, Angel," Derek whispered into the phone when she answered, her mumble tired and half asleep.

"_Messanotte? Vaffanculo, Derek, si stronzo," Sammie's words were almost unintelligible as she glanced at the clock through slitted eyes, but Derek got every word. "Vai morire."_

"Ti amo anch'io, mai bella ragazza," Derek just smiled despite the death threats he clearly understood. He wasn't a master with Italian quite yet, but the death threats and curse words he had down pat. He expected nothing less for calling her at midnight on her birthday. He knew she'd be asleep, but wanted to be the absolute first one to say 'Happy Birthday.' Even if it meant her only response would be for him to go die.

"_Io ti odio."_

"Are you just going to keep telling me you hate me and I'm an ass?"

_ "Si. Io torno indietro a dormire."_

"Buonanotte, Angelo. Buon compleanno."

"_Vaffanculo," Sammie mumbled the last curse out at him as she close her phone and lobed it across the room. She loved that man more than anything in the world, but, right now, she really wanted to throttle him. Closing her eyes firmly, Sammie snuggled around the stuffed bear wearing a Blackhawks jersey Derek had given her a while ago. She was almost asleep again when she smiled slightly and tightened her hold around the bear that smelled slightly like Derek._

Derek smiled to himself as he hung up and curled back under the covers. Clooney snored at the end of the bed. Derek glanced at the picture of Sammie on his nightstand. He missed her. He always missed her. Two more years of missing her and, after that, he would never have to miss her again, because, if he had his way, she would be sleeping next to him every night.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

"No! No! Fermarlo!" Sammie ran from her Uncle Nico, shouting for him to stop as he tried to grab her. Derek understood from the other birthdays he had celebrated with the family that he was trying to pull Sammie's ears, though the 'why' was still completely lost on him. Eventually, Paolo blocked Sammie's way and she was caught. Derek laughed and took the beer Claudio offered him.

"Happy twenty-first birthday, Princess," Derek whispered in her ear and kissed her cheek when she finally found her way back to him. Sammie leaned back against his chest and he wrapped his arms around her. "Can I give you your birthday present now?"

Sammie laughed and tilted her head back to kiss him. "I don't want a present, Prince Charming. I have nothing to give you back."

"Sammie, you give me everything just by existing," Derek kissed her again. Pulling a small, wrapped box from his pocket, he held her close and enjoyed his front row seat to watching her open her present. Sammie let the wrapping paper fall to the floor and Derek enjoyed her gasp when she saw the black jewelry box. Derek could feel her family's eyes on him, knowing that every single one of them was praying it was not an engagement ring.

"Derek, it's gorgeous," Sammie stared at the diamond drop necklace. It was small, partially because he couldn't afford much more and partially because he knew anything more would scare her. Derek kissed her temple and carefully pulled the necklace from the box. Sammie pulled her hair up a little and let him clasp it around her neck. Her fingers touched the pendent as she turned around and wrapped her arms around his neck, pushing up on her toes to kiss him.

The family members who liked him started hollering and cheering and clapping, Gia and James being the loudest of those. The ones who didn't remained quiet, but clapped politely.

"I love you so much," Sammie whispered.

"I love you too," Derek gave her one last quick kiss and released her before one of her great uncles could come kill him. He already saw Romaldo, George's older brother, glaring at him. That man would sooner like a known Nazi than Derek.

James stopped next to Derek as the female cousins pulled Sammie into the middle of them to examine her present. "Nice job."

"I think she likes it."

"You do know that you can't get her a necklace ever again, right?"

"Why?" Derek laughed and looked over at James.

"Because she only ever wears one and now she has two," James joked, bumping Derek with his shoulder.

"I _think_ it'll be okay, kid. You know–"

"Cake!" James jumped away as his aunts brought out a cake the size of which Derek had never seen before. If James was afraid he wouldn't get any cake, he had every right to be worried. Everyone except Derek, who still wasn't used to celebrating things with a huge family, jumped at the cake at the exact same moment as James. There was a lot of shouting and laughing before Sammie managed to blow out the twenty-one candles on her cake and then duck out of the line of fire with two slices of cake.

"It's dangerous in there," Sammie grinned and handed him a slice of cake. "By the way, this is the best cake you will ever have in your entire life. Ever."

Derek took a bite and shook his head. "Nope."

"What? You're out of your mind," Sammie mumbled around her own bit of cake, some frosting clinging to the corner of her mouth.

"Yours is better," Derek wiped the frosting away with his thumb and licked it off.

"Suck up," Sammie rolled her eyes and elbowed him in the ribs.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

"We're here," Derek killed the engine outside of Sammie's apartment later that night.

"Nope," Sammie unbuckled her seatbelt and cuddled into him. "We're not here. We have a lot longer to go."

"Oh yeah?" He wrapped his arm around her shoulder.

"Oh yeah," She pulled his head down to hers. "Let's go inside and watch a movie or something."

"I dunno, Angel."

"Keira's in Oklahoma. Her grandma's really sick so she's there. And Vanessa is over at her boyfriend's. So it'd just be you and me and Clooney," Sammie turned her brown eyes on him and Derek caved quicker than a mine without shores.

Within an hour, Derek was nestled comfortably against Sammie on her couch half watching Scary Movie while Clooney lay asleep in the corner. Most of his attention was on kissing Sammie. It didn't take long before the movie was completely forgotten to both of them. They danced dangerously with the line they had created between acceptable and the fire alarm, but Derek was having difficulty paying attention to the alarm blasting in his ears.

"Sam," Derek pulled away, breathing heavily. "We have to stop."

"No," Sammie pulled him back.

"Sam, please–"

"I want this," she whispered, scraping her fingers through his hair and kissing him. "I want you. Please, Baby."

"Baby Girl, we can't do this."

"Yes, we can."

"Sam, you're going to kill me."

"Derek, I love you," Sammie kissed him, "This is right. Now or later, I don't care. I just want you. Forever."

"Forever?" Derek whispered against her lips.

"Forever. If you want me forever."

"I want you forever."

Derek Morgan was no stranger to women and he'd never given any woman a single reason to be disappointed in his performance, but this wasn't just _any_ woman. This was his Sammie. This was his beautiful angel who was still so fragile about so many things. This was his angel to whom a mans' touch meant pain and humiliation, fear and abuse. She was asking him to erase all the bad memories from her body and show her what a man's touch was supposed to feel like.

Swooping her up in his arms, Derek kissed her lips softly and carried her towards her bedroom, closing the door behind them. While there was something infinitely erotic about sex outside of the bedroom, he wanted their first time together to be in a bed, not on the couch. He wanted, needed, to make sure she was somewhere she felt comfortable and safe.

He set her down gently on her unmade bed and stretched out next to her, continuing the kissing they'd been engaged in on the couch. Sammie made the first move towards something further when she tugged his long sleeve shirt over his head. Biting her bottom lip, she hesitated before running a hand over his chiseled abdomen. How could someone as beautiful as Derek want someone like her?

Derek watched and waited; he didn't want to push her before she was ready. He kissed her forehead and pulled her close when she kissed him. Slowly, giving her the chance to say 'no,' he pulled her Chicago Symphony Orchestra t-shirt off and dropped it to the floor next to his grey knit. Sammie shied away for a moment and didn't look at him until he brushed her bangs out of her face and kissed her.

"Beautiful," he touched his nose against hers. She smiled doubtfully, but looked at him and kissed him. His hands rested on her waist, waiting for her. Always waiting for her. When she was comfortable, he leaned over her and kissed her. "I love you, Angel."

"I love you, Derek," she whispered back and shook slightly next to him.

"What's wrong, Sammie? Do you want to stop?" Derek kissed her closed eyelids and her nose, holding her close and whispering as she kept shaking. She let him hold her close and breathed deeply. "We don't have to do anything, Princess."

"No. Derek, I want – I want you. I just…" Sammie opened her eyes and looked up at Derek and touched his cheek with the tips of her fingers. "My scars…"

Derek's chest tightened with anger and he squeezed her tightly, kissing her softly. He had seen the pictures of the scars Nick had left on her inner thighs in the police report and just thinking about them now made him thankful the man was in jail so Derek couldn't kill him, because he was sorely tempted by the idea. Nick had left five identical scars, three on one thigh and two on the other, that showed his teeth pitted into her flesh. Only one of them had been left the night he took her to the hospital, the rest had fully healed by that night, but that didn't exactly make him jump for joy. It just meant he'd been hurting her that way long enough that the scars had had time to heal, which wasn't a happy thought for him in any universe.

"Baby Girl, he is never going to hurt you again," he promised her, dropping feather light kisses on her face and cradling the back of her head in his hands. "I will never let him or anyone else ever hurt you."

"I know," she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. "I know you won't, Derek. I'm sorry, though."

"For what?"

"The scars."

"Listen to me, Angel. I love you. All of you. I fell in love with all of you knowing that you came with baggage. I love you – your past, your present and your future. That includes those scars. I wish they weren't there; I wish you hadn't gone through what you went through. But you did and it's part of you." He kept his voice quiet and soothing, but she shook her head and kissed him. Derek wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close.

"I love you," Sammie whispered in between kisses. She knew she would never want any other man to touch her for the rest of her life.

"I love you too, Princess," Derek returned the sentiment, squeezing her tightly until she squeaked in protest when he squeezed a little too tight. He'd never said those words to anyone besides his family before Sammie. Sure, he'd liked the girls he'd messed around with before this, but no one had ever meant as much to him as Sammie did. Nothing came close to her.

Smiling when her hands became a little more adventurous, Derek kissed her passionately, but carefully, still carefully. She trusted him with everything; with her secrets, with her dreams, her heart and her body. She trusted him and he refused to disappoint her. Nudging her back onto her back, he leaned over her. Sammie linked her arms behind his neck and tugged slightly to bring his head down to hers.

Her hands slid down his back and his muscles shifted under her fingertips. She loved the way his skin felt against hers, like silky smooth satin. Derek tangled his hands in her hair and cupped the back of her head. His tongue teased her bottom lip. He couldn't stop kissing her; everything about her was intoxicating and he wasn't quite sure if she was intoxicating because he loved so much her or if he loved her because she was so intoxicating.

Derek pulled back and stared down at her, waiting until she opened her eyes and he could loose himself in her sweet brown eyes for a few seconds. He loved her eyes; he knew without a doubt that her eyes were the first bit of her he'd fallen in love with. Sammie smiled at him and reached up to his face, tracing her fingers over the side of his face.

"Do you love me?" She whispered the question, her fingers still trailing over the stubble on his jaw. She didn't have to ask – she knew the answer. She could see it in his eyes every time he looked at her. Sometimes, he'd come up behind her and wrap his arms around her waist, pulling her close against his chest and holding her so tight she couldn't breathe.

'_Ti amo, mia bella ragazza.'_

He'd hold her tight and whisper 'I love you, my beautiful girl' in her ear over and over, not letting her breathe as he kissed her cheek, her neck, anyplace he could reach. He'd seen her at her absolute worst and he'd fallen in love with her anyways. She had no idea what she'd done for God to choose to give her such a wonderful, loving man, but she would never let go of him. Not for anything in the world.

"More than life, Angel," he whispered back, kissing her. "You know that."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

16 April, 2001

Derek woke early the next morning to Sammie pressed close against him, her head tucked in the hollow of his shoulder and her legs tangled with his. His arms were around her tightly, like he had been afraid she would wake first and change her mind about him. He let go of her with one hand to collect her hair and pull it back so he could see her face as she slept. He laid holding her and watching her sleep until he was almost back asleep himself. Then he remembered Clooney.

Glancing over at the clock, Derek kept his groan internal. He needed to take the dog for a walk or he would be cleaning the apartment floor in a bit. Carefully and slowly, he untangled himself from Sammie without waking her, tucking her back in and kissing her cheek before getting dressed as silently as he could.

As soon as the bedroom door was closed behind him, Clooney was at his side whining to go out. Derek shoved his feet into his shoes, hooked Clooney's leash and, using Sammie's keys, closed and locked the door behind them.

Sammie yawned and blinked her eyes open, rolling to find Derek's spot empty. Bolting up in bed, she clutched the blanket around her and saw Derek's clothing gone and the room empty. "Derek? Derek…?"

The silence crushed her and she sank back into the bed, pulling the blanket over her head and curling herself into as small a ball as she could physically manage. Her heart broke as she sobbed into her pillow, unable to believe she had been so stupid to let herself believe in this, in him, in _them_.

That's how Derek found her, sobbing hysterically and yelling at herself in Italian, when he returned, leaving Clooney in the main room and closing her bedroom door. Practically sprinting the few feet from the door to the bed, Derek crawled in next to her and pulled her into his arms "Sammie? Baby Girl, what's wrong? What happened, Angel?"

Sammie couldn't speak, just buried her face into his chest and cried unintelligibly. Derek whispered in her ear and held her, able to understand basically what had happened without any help.

"Stupid," she whispered and Derek shook his head.

"No, Baby. Incredibly smart," he kissed her hair, rubbing her back as her breathing returned to normal. "And talented and beautiful and absolutely amazing."

"I doubted you," she hiccupped and Derek cut off what he knew would be an apology with a kiss. He didn't need or want an apology.

"Shhh… it's okay, Angel, it's okay. I love you. So much."

"I love you too," Sammie returned his kiss, wrapped her arms around his neck and letting him kiss her tears away.

o o o o

"_Sex is more than an act of pleasure, it's the ability to be able to feel so close to a person, so connected, so comfortable that it's almost breathtaking to the point you can feel you can't take it. And at this moment, you're a part of them." – Author Unknown_

_

* * *

_

**A/N:**

**Sprrrring Breaaaaak I love you sooooooooo.**

**This is as close to sex as you're going to get in my stories - it's like cable. You know it happened, but you don't get to see it. haha**

**I don't wanna talk about 6x16 "Lauren" just yet, cause I don't want to spoil anything for people who haven't seen it yet. It's been less then 24 hours. So I'll just say a few of the things I posted on Facebook while watching it: 1. "omfg.," 2. "J.J. IS A BAMF!," 3. "/sobs," 4. "Gubler has awesome talents," and 5. "I FUCKING KNEW IT!" BAM! I called the ending over a month ago. I'm so danged good. But seriously, the episode was amazing.**

**My boys in blue are freaking ahhhhhmaaaaaaaazing. They're leading the league with 103 points, first team to 100% cinch a playoff spot this year, won the Division... ON FREAKIN MARCH 16!, Danny Boy is leading the points race, his twin brother Henrick is leading the assists (3rd in the points race) after winning the points race last year, our injured D are on task to return in time for playoffs, my crush on Cory Schneider is about reaching the institutional point... All goes according to schedule! STANLEY CUP 2011!**

**On Tuesday I went hiking with my BFFs Kaff and Squishie and Kaff's brother and cousin. It was epic. I slipped and wiped out, covering my butt in dirt. Classic me. Then the tree boys got us lost and Kaff and I just rolled our eyes. Boys. And then we went to Greek food for lunch followed by GELATOOOOOOOO. OMG. Best. Gelato. Ever. I love my life. And now we're trying to decide what to do today.**

**Anyways - Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it and, please, tell me what you think - good or bad!**

**Love, Thalia**


	26. Chapter 26

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.**

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"_Each morning when I open my eyes I say to myself: I, not events, have the power to make me happy or unhappy today. I can choose which it shall be. Yesterday is dead, tomorrow hasn't arrived yet. I have just one day, today, and I'm going to be happy in it." – Groucho Marx_

o o o o

22 May, 2001

"Call me when you land, okay?" Derek leaned down and kissed Sammie, the ends of her short blonde hair tickling his fingers as he cupped the back of her head. Just yesterday he'd mourned the loss of her long, blonde hair and the next time he saw her, she'd be completely bald.

"I will," Sammie nodded and pushed up on her toes to kiss him again. "I love you."

"I love you too. Be careful. No death by Viper."

"I will. No death. And you too."

"Come on, guys. Be gross later," Keira groaned and picked up her trumpet case and carry-on when people began boarding their flight. Pejmon came running up with his cymbal case and his parents trailing behind him. Sammie and Derek exchanged a last kiss and Sammie turned to hug Andria and James. Derek, Andria and James watched along with Pejmon's parents and Keira's mother as the plane taxied out to the runway, raced away and started flying west to Santa Clara. Pejmon's parents left rather quickly, just speaking briefly, but Keira's mother and Andria spent time talking together with the comfortable ease of two women whose daughters have been friends since childhood.

"Are you having dinner with us?" James asked as they sat in hard, plastic seats waiting for the conversation to end. Derek shook his head; the only reason he stayed was to keep James company.

"Not tonight. I work tonight. You and me, we'll hang out soon, though, okay?"

"Yeah, 'cause Sam's not here anymore," James picked at a loose thread in his cargo shorts and stared at the stained carpet.

"Hey, now, kid. C'mon, don't do that," Derek leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, turning his head to look at James.

"You've already got Sam. You don't have to hang out with me anymore."

"James, you were never a way to get to Sam. You know that. I didn't need your help getting to Sam."

"Yeah. You just needed to grow a brain."

"Hey. James, what's going on?"

"Nothing," James pushed himself up and, ignoring Derek, walked over to Andria, mumbling quietly enough that Derek had no chance of hearing the words, much less awkwardly translating the words into English and comprehending them. Baffled, Derek walked with James and Andria to the short-term parking where his bike sat forty-five years away from the Murdoch's sedan.

Derek let the Murdoch's pull out first and sat straddling his bike for a quarter of an hour staring at the handlebars in utter confusion. He didn't know what James was so upset about – he hadn't been ignoring the teenager, hadn't done anything to warrant anger, he didn't think. Once home, Derek took Clooney for a quick walk and tossed a ragged tennis ball for a while before heading back to the apartment from the empty lot down the street.

An hour sat between that moment and when he needed to get himself and Clooney ready to go to the police station and his thoughts wandered to Sammie. Walking through his apartment, his eyes lingered on the evidence of Sammie's presences littered everywhere: a single blue sock, sheet music Derek couldn't read, a set of red Chuck Taylor's in the corner, a discharged, cracked reed that must have missed the trashcan, black hair bands on every surface. Sitting down on his bed, he glanced at the stack of CD cases on his dresser, the ones she insisted he borrow and hear, the slightly smaller stack right next to his bed, the ones of her playing. Derek leaned back so his head hit the pillow, closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

He could feel her presence most here. Even as he loved that his pillow smelt like her, a twinge of guilt hit him like a soccer ball to the gut. They had broken her promise. He would marry her, though. He knew they'd be together for the rest of their lives, so what did two years really matter? If anything, he'd just love her even more by the time he managed to put a ring on her left hand.

Reaching over, Derek hit the play button on his CD player and waited until the music started playing before he closed his eyes. The piano came first, slow and cheerful, before the clarinet began working it's magic on his heart.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

3 June, 2001

"Bonding time!" someone shouted laughingly as corps members started sitting in their little cliques with their dinner after afternoon practice. Tired laughter rippled through the group. Sammie lay down flat on her stomach with her plate up by her head. Someone dropped an ice cube on her back above her tank top and she groaned.

"Pej, I hate your guts," she mumbled into the grass of the local high school's practice field.

"I hate yours too."

"Go die."

"You first."

Saul fell next to Sammie with a thud and dug into his chicken sandwich without greeting anyone. Keira sat between Sammie and Pejmon instead of over with the other trumpet players just as the rookie on the cymbal line, Hank, dropped on the other side of Saul next to Pejmon to complete their small circle.

They ate with minimal talking, too tired to create conversation. Practice had begun at six-thirty that morning and continued all day with only an hour break for lunch around noon. At five-fifteen, they were all exhausted and practice would continue longer after dinner. Sammie cracked the seal on a fresh bottle of Gatorade as Saul snagged their instructor's guitar and started playing a few chords. Everyone had a little more energy with full stomachs and a break.

Saul strummed and played a song from the new country group, Rascal Flatts, and pretty soon Keira was singing along.

"Prayin' for daylight waiting for that morning sun so I can act like my whole life ain't going wrong. Baby come back to me, I swear I'll make it right. Don't make me spend another lonely night prayin' for daylight…"

Sammie smiled, resting her head on Keira's shoulder. The last time she'd heard the song she and Derek had been sitting in her backyard talking about nothing and everything all at once. She loved how they could do that, how every minute she spent with him felt like one more minute of forever, one more minute of something so perfect she didn't have words to describe it.

The guitar was passed from person to person and everyone got a chance to play before it wound up in Sammie's lap. She only knew a handful of songs on the guitar and all from one artist, so she picked her favourite and Keira groaned as soon as she recognized Gordon Lightfoot's "Me and Bobby McGee."

"Busted flat in Baton Rouge headin' for the train feeling nearly faded as my jeans. Bobby thumbed a diesel down just before it rained. Took us all the way to New Orleans."

Closing her eyes, she was thirteen years old and sitting next to her dad in a Coleman camping chair with the fire cackling happily a few feet away. The sun was just peaking over the tops of the trees, almost gone for the day, and the air was crisp enough to give her goose bumps. Their campsite was deep enough in the trees at Pinery Provincial Park at the bottom on Lake Huron that they could barely hear the people at the next campsite.

Her father held the old acoustic guitar she grew up listening to and played the only songs he knew how to play, his voice happy and kind, a sort of cruel joke that there could be these fleeting moments of wonderful that continually gave her hope before it was mercilessly jerked from her grasp.

"I took my harpoon out of my dirty red bandanna and was blowin' sad while Bobby sang the blues. With those windshield wipers slappin' time and Bobby clappin' hands we finally sung up every song that driver knew."

Still, knowing it could disappear any second, Sammie hoped, prayed that this time it would stick, that this time there wouldn't be a disappointing end, that this time there would be no end and her father would stay this way forever. And so she sang along. Maybe she would be good enough this time.

"Freedom's just another word for nothin' left to lose. Nothin' ain't worth nothin' but it's free. Feelin' good was easy, Lord, when Bobby sang the blues. Feelin' good was good enough for me. Good enough for me and Bobby McGee."

Sammie blinked her eyes open and the Canadian forest was gone. Her voice was the only one singing and the comforting scent of the campfire, of happily burning wood, no longer tingled her nose. She finished the song on autopilot before handing the guitar back to Saul and letting other people take over the conversation. Keira looked at her like she knew what was wrong, she probably did, and squeezed Sammie's hand.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

16 June, 2011

The restaurant was loud and alive as Derek and his family sat down at the table. Most people were watching the qualifying game between Italy and Georgia for next summer's World Cup. A shout went up when Gianluigi Buffon jumped to the corner of the net, catching what looked like a sure goal off the foot of Kakha Kaladze. Startled, Sarah jumped. Derek just laughed. He was used to this environment.

"Derek! E la famiglia Morgan! Benvenuti!" Sammie's aunt Marsi stopped at their table. "Sono così felice che tu sia qui! Quando sei venuto qua?"

"Caio, Marsi. Solo pochi minuti fa," Derek grinned back. Marsi was his favourite. Short and plump, the woman made every feel welcome.

"Molto bene, Derek! Sei stato praticante," Marsi clapped, a huge smile spread across her face. "Anyone else?" Fran and Desiree laughed and shook their heads, but Sarah just offered a tight smile. "Usual drinks? Solo un momento."

A minute or two later, James showed up with their drinks and a steaming bread basket, glancing over his shoulder constantly to see the match on the television. He muttered under his breath when the Georgian keeper stopped a shot on goal. He put down their drinks and started his script without fully looking away from the match. "Ciao. Benvenuti a Ponsiglione's. Sono James e io – hey! Sorry!"

"You know you're supposed to do that in English, J," Derek teased. It was always dangerous coming into Ponsiglione's during a soccer match – you never knew what you were going to get. Usually, they spoke to the customers in English, but during games or if they were distracted, they slipped back into the native Italian.

"Yeah, yeah…" James gave the charming, charismatic grin that always got him out of trouble. The kid could pull a Charles Manson and all he would have to do is flash that beguiling smile at the judge, male or female, and he would get off scot-free. "So what are we feeling today? Name a meat and I'll find something I promise you'll love."

"Lamb."

"Chicken."

"Veggies."

"Sausage."

"Okay. No allergies, right?" As they shook their heads 'no,' James poured olive oil over a small dish of chopped and toasted garlic. When James had left for the kitchen, Derek opened his mouth to speak, but the entire restaurant exploded when Marco Delvecchio scored in the forty-fifth minute, seconds before the end of the first half. Their happiness was infectious and the Morgans' cheered along with them.

The four of them talked and joked as families did, tasting each other's dishes and reaching across each other instead of asking. Just as they were finishing up, Andria, Marsi and their mother Marsala came over, putting a huge, beautiful tiramisu cake with candle sparklers in front of him. Derek started laughing as all three women tried to kiss his cheek at once.

"Buon compleanno, Derek," Andria smiled at him fondly. "Even if your birthday was last week."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

21 June, 2001

"Dut, dut, dut, dut, dut." The cymbal line verbalized each beat as they marked time to their instructor Kevin and the two drumsticks he hit together as a metronome. A series of fusion crashes ended with a dramatic splash crash. Kevin kept time as he watched the visual.

"Hank, tighter movements. Sharp. Think staccato. Your movements are the beats. Tight. Tight. Tight. Tight. Dut, dut, dut."

Sammie's arms ached. At two in the afternoon, the sun hung high and hot in the sky, beating down on them mercilessly. Sweat ran down her back and soaked into the elastic in her sports bra. The leather straps of her cymbals continually rubbed away skin with every movement.

There first competition of the year was tomorrow. All the hard work would be worth it when they stepped out on that field. There was nothing like the thrill of those twelve minutes performing on the field. She loved it and hated that this was her last year, her age-out year.

Her stomach turned over, but she ignored it. It had been doing that all day. It was doing that yesterday too. Too hot. Usually, they had a few days when the heat increased slowly and they could get used to it gradually, but, this summer, the heat jumped from a tolerable ninety-two to a hundred and one over night.

Kevin stopped them and said to grab some Gatorade. Saul and Pejmon dropped where they stood and grabbed their gallon-sized water bottles, gulping down Gatorade faster than they should. Sammie slipped off her cymbals and walked a few steps to her water bottle, but her stomach flipped again. Violently.

Pejmon cheered as Sammie emptied the contents of her stomach onto the grass. Sammie dry heaved twice before running the back of her hand over her mouth. She took a drink of water, swished her mouth and spit it back out.

"Keep drinking, Sam," Kevin tossed her an unopened bottle of Gatorade. "You're probably just dehydrated."

"Sam finally puked!" Pejmon kept celebrating even after Sammie nailed him in the head with one of Kevin's drumsticks. "It took six years, but you finally threw up! Thank you, God!"

"You're such a jerk," Sammie lowered the now half-empty Gatorade bottle.

"You can't leave the corps a heat-stroke virgin, Sam. Especially not after six years. It just wouldn't be right."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

6 July, 2001

"Nice!" James laughed as his grenade exploded a hole in the rocks. "I can't believe you can mess with the world like that."

"_Red Faction_ is pretty tight," Derek exchanged his gun for a rocket launcher. They sat in identical hunched positions, leaning forward with their elbows on their knees and focusing on the latest cool new video game.

"Ohhh!" James mocked Derek as his character died. "Destroyed! Absolutely destroyed!"

Clooney barked once to show his annoyance at being kept awake before getting up and padding out of the living room towards Derek's bedroom where he might get some quiet. Derek grabbed a handful of popcorn from the bowl on the coffee table. He glanced over at James for a second as his character re-spawned. "You gonna tell me what's been up the past couple weeks?"

"Nothing's up."

"You sure about that?"

James didn't answer. Instead, he used grenades to blow a tunnel through boulders and stared intently at the PlayStation controller in his hand. "Why didn't you tell me? Why won't you tell me?"

"About what?" Derek had a pretty good idea 'what.'

"The guy… at the community center. The one that was the reason you know what it's like."

"James… man, it… it's hard."

"Do you not trust me or something?" James kept his gaze on he controller.

"Of course I trust you, James. You're like my brother," Derek sighed, staring at his own controller. "I just _don't_ talk about it. I've never talked about it."

"Except with Sam," James' tone was bitter.

"No, especially not with Sam."

"What?" James looked up in surprise.

"Sam doesn't know. You're the only one who knows anything," Derek still stared at the carpet.

"You didn't tell her." The statement wasn't a question, but Derek shook his head in answer anyways. "Why not?"

"I don't want her to know. I don't want her to… to pity me or anything."

"Is that what you do with us? Pity us? Is that why you stuck around in the first place?" Blue eyes flashed with fury.

"No way, James. You guys… you reminded me of me. I guess I wanted to protect you."

"I don't need your protection or your pity," James put the controller down on the coffee table and stood up, grabbing his jacket and stalking towards the door. "I thought you were my friend, man. I didn't realize I was just some dumb charity case. Some Big Brother Big Sister program shit."

"James, wait a second. James!" Derek jumped up after him. "James, c'mon."

"No, this is such shit."

"At least let me drive you home."

"I'll take a cab."

"A cab back to your house will cost you forty or fifty bucks," Derek willed the stubborn teenager to calm down. Apparently, James didn't want to waste that much money on a cab, because he followed Derek to the silver Intrepid and soon they were driving back towards Riverside. Derek put the car in park in the Murdoch's driveway. "James, I don't pity you."

"Whatever."

"I never told anyone before you." Derek's words stopped James as he reached for the door handle. "He was my football coach over at the community center. I was thirteen and, at first, he was just like a dad or uncle. He taught me how to throw and catch, the rules of the game."

"But he hit you when you disappointed him," James continued when Derek stopped.

"No," Derek shook his head. "He never hit me."

"Then what…" his voice trailed off as his eyes widened in slow, horrified realization. "Oh."

Derek stared at his hands on the wheel, feeling vile and disgusting. 'Oh.' He couldn't expect James or anyone else to say anything besides 'oh.' What else could they say?

"Why didn't you run? Or tell someone?"

"Afraid to. I didn't have a shot in hell at life without his help. And ashamed. I didn't want anyone to know. I didn't want to admit it was happening."

Neither of them spoke. They sat in silence in the idling sedan. A car drove past the driveway and turned into it's own a few houses down. Somewhere a dog barked twice before quieting again. Derek wished the earth would open to swallow him whole. James would never look at him the same way again and Derek couldn't blame him. He was disgusting. What teenager would want to be like him when they knew what he really was? And Sammie… What girl would love him when they knew the truth? What if she found out and left?

"It wasn't your fault," James' voice was uncharacteristically quiet, like he had been thinking very hard. "What happened… it wasn't your fault."

o o o o

"_Any ordeal that you can survive as a human being is an improvement in your character, and usually an improvement in your life." – Viggo Mortensen_

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**A/N:**

**This chapter is kind of a no-man's-land chapter. Every little bit in this chapter is vitally important for coming chapters, no matter how mish-mashed it seems right now. So, call it whatever you want, filler, prep, build-up, IDK! That's what it is. So don't come at me saying "nothing really happened blah blah blah" (The person saying that in my head has a really squeaky voice, btw. Just felt like sharing! Lol) because whatever you might not have understood will make sense soon. **

**Last week was kinda a sucky week for me. Soccer season is over. The boys lost in their second playoff game. It was awful. It was just really hard knowing it's probably the last time I'm ever going to see LB play. Plus, I've been on the sidelines all season taking pictures. I was seriously ready to sit down and start crying with the rest of the team. :( **

**But I got to hang out with my BFF Kaff yesterday and today. Yesterday we watched Tangled (PASCAL IS SO AWESOME) and today we walked together for forty minutes and talked. So that's awesome. We were supposed to go bowling with our brothers, but something came up so that was sad. They're my favourite. I love them. LB and Kaff's brother are the same age and had epic chalkboard battles during history class last year. I'll have to find the picture and post it for yall. It's hilarious. I'll let you know when I find it.**

**In other news: Melons. Yes. Melons. On the 21st of March, that would be fifteen days ago for those of you sans calendar, Little Brother Dearest was trying to get Mum to agree to let him and the Bonus Brothers go (unsupervised) all the way from Texas to Cedar Point in Sandusky, Ohio. That is a ****one thousand two hundred and ninety-seven **(1,297) mile drive. None of them are over 19. Oh so surprisingly, the answer was a resounding "Are you out of your mind?" Not that that answer has deterred him any. He kept asking and bringing it up, not exactly nagging, but just being silly. Mum's tuned him out and is looking at ancient family photos from the 18 and early 19 hundreds. I'm still listening to Little Brother, just having fun with him. Finally, I say, "If you get to go to Cedar Point, I get to go to Canada." However... he didn't hear the last bit of my sentence and started freaking out thinking I'd said "I get to go with you" or something. I, of course, think it's absolutely freaking hysterical - I'm sick and twisted, what can I say - and start messing with him. After a while, he picks up the melon on the counter and says, "I will throw this at you. What did you say?" A little more teasing and I head to my room, pull out my book and start reading, still giggling. Maybe six, seven minutes later my door opens, Little Brother lobs the melon at me like a grenade, shuts the door and runs away. I come out, melon in tow, absolutely laughing myself to death. Mum didn't seem to believe Little Brother threw the melon at me, which, naturally, brought up the time Mum threw an open bag of pasta shells at Little Brother - I was there, he deserved it 100%. Damn puberty. I'm on the floor laughing so hard that I cannot breathe. So he starts making fun of me, because I'm pretty much turned red as a roma tomato, wheezing my laughter out because I have absolutely no air left and then gasping for breath when I'm about to pass out. His making fun of me only makes it worse. I laugh harder. More wheezing, brighter red, closer to death. 

**Which brings me to another legendary family story to share with you. Also to do with melons. My mum (6), her three younger sisters (4,3,2) and their parents (my grama and grampa) moved to and lived in Israel on a kibbutz from 1960-1961. The parents used to get up at the crack of dawn to eat and then go work at the job they were assigned that week. Sometimes they worked in slaughterhouse, etc, or to the fields. If it was harvest time and you were working in the fields, you could bring home as much as you could carry. Bananas, oranges, grapes and, this one time, watermelons. Dun, dun, dun... (Anybody see a pattern emerging?) Now, everybody got to bring home a loaf of fresh bread, little pots of butter and jam, a container of milk, tea packets. So, that day, Grama had worked in the field and brought home watermelon. Grama and Grampa were sitting on the log in the grassy area in front of where they lived and the four girls were on the ground. They had cut one of the watermelon into six pieces and were eating and laughing and my Grama (God,, love her) had an end piece. She'd eaten down into the rind and, when she'd gotten pretty close to the end, she looked at my Grampa, looked back at the watermelon, looked at my Grampa again and smashed the watermelon right into his face! Grama jumps up and starts running away and laughing hysterically and, of course, Grampa gets up and chases her. They're chasing each other around, smashing watermelons in each others faces and my mum and aunts are just laughing their little heads off. All the while, I'm 99.99999% positive, the rest of the people on the kibbutz were thinking, "When are these damn Americans gonna go home?" ... Melons... they run in the family.**

**Okay! I'm off! Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it and, please, tell me what you think - good or bad! ¡Adiós!**

**Love, Thalia**


	27. Chapter 27

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.**

* * *

_"Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life? … Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own." – Matthew 6:25-27,34_

o o o o

17 July, 2001

It was bright as sunny as Derek lay on his back, all his concentration on the small pipe bomb he was in the middle of defusing. The bomb had been stuck to the bottom of a bus stop bench; why, no one really knew. Clooney sat on his haunches next to Derek.

"Please, Dear God," Derek whispered to himself as he raised the wire clippers to a yellow-coated wire. He resisted the urge to cringe and close his eyes as he squeezed the tool shut, cutting through the wire and praying for nothing to happen.

The stopwatch attached to the bomb stopped with three hours and seventeen minutes left, and Derek heaved a sigh of relief. "All clear!" he called, his voice muffled by the protective headgear. Carefully and slowly, he pulled the bomb from the bench, using his knife to cut through the tape, and handed it to another bomb tech waiting for the disabled bomb. Clooney jumped to his feet and Derek shuffled himself out from underneath the bench and sat up.

Derek tugged the helmet off and dropped it to the ground, leaning forward and clasping his hands together, his elbows resting on his bent knees. He felt Clooney rest his head on his arm, despite the heavy layer of protection he wore. He didn't move to acknowledge the dog, however, as he prayed silently and quickly. The act had become easy, something he didn't really think about all that much when it did come. His conversations with God were usually confused questions he never truly felt were answered, but thanking Him, especially after a moment where he danced so close to death he could feel the explosion hit him and was almost surprised when it never came, had become something he didn't truly think about.

His pounding heart rate calmed slowly and he opened his eyes, tossing Clooney's head around for a second before standing up.

"Good work, Morgan," Harold Corten, the chief bomb technician, shook Derek's hand and clapped him on the back. "Very good work."

"Clooney found it," Derek shrugged with a half-smile, embarrassed but thrilled by the compliment.

"Helluva dog. See you back at the station."

By the time Derek and Clooney made it back to the station, there was only thirty-odd minutes remaining in his shit. He checked his equipment back in, filed his report and left it on Harold's desk before heading to the locker room to grab his stuff. Clooney laid down on the floor without prompting as Derek entered the combination into his lock. He pulled a fresh t-shirt from his gym bag, tugging his sweat-soaked shirt off and shoving it into the bag in one fluid motion.

"Nice tat," an officer a couple yards down nodded appreciatively at the relatively new lion inked onto his right bicep as Derek slipped the new shirt over his head. "Take long?"

"Not too bad. About three hours fifteen. Maybe three thirty."

"Looks good."

"Thanks," Derek nodded his goodbye as we swung the bag over his shoulder and picked up Clooney's leash. As soon as the leash was in Derek's hand, Clooney sprung up, ready to go. The entire way home and well into cooking his dinner, he thought about the tattoo.

_He was just entering the third hour of tattooing and the shading was hurting like nothing he'd ever imagined. Derek focused on Sammie's face as she watched in awe while the lion on his right bicep began to look finished._

_ "It looks awesome," Sammie grinned at him. Derek squeezed her hand._

_ "Okay. Done," the tattoo-covered tattoo artist put the tattoo gun down. "Now, don't take the bandage off for at least twenty-four hours."_

_ The tattoo artist continued talking and Derek listened, but Sammie had started fidgeting like a listless toddler who couldn't sit still a second longer. As soon as the bandage was over Derek's arm and he was getting up, words blurted from her mouth as if she were afraid they would run and hide if she didn't say them immediately. "I want one."_

_ It took a moment for Derek to register the run-together sentence and, once he did, he started laughing. "Sam, you're afraid of needles!"_

_ "So?"_

_"You're terrified of needles! You couldn't even handle getting a flu shot – how are you going to sit through a tattoo?" _

In the end, Sammie picked out three absolutely tiny music notes. Together, the three notes didn't even amount to a full square centimeter of inked flesh behind her right ear. Or it would have amounted to just less than a full square centimeter had Sammie lasted through the first music note.

_"Okay! I changed my mind," Sammie gritted through her teeth as she squeezed Derek's hand._

_"There is no changing your mind halfway through a tattoo, Sam," Derek resisted the urge to roll his eyes and shake his head. He had known this would happen. The second she said she wanted a tattoo, he knew exactly how this would end. Which is why he had talked her into three separate, miniscule notes – he knew she's change her mind after the first note. "It's almost done and then you can stop."_

_"Almost done?"_

_"Almost done, Baby."_

Watching her later that night, pretend she hadn't flipped out, had been hilarious and thinking about it made Derek glad the summer was winding down and she would be home in three weeks. A two hour trip to her campus was better than not seeing her since May.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

25 July, 2001

Sammie glanced around her, praying she had gotten to the checkout counter of the Wal-Mart before anyone else from SCV. An uninterested teenager scanned her box without even looking at it and dumped it unceremoniously into a blue plastic bag.

"Thirteen forty-two."

Handing over the cash, Sammie grabbed her bag and left after waiting just long enough to get her change. She hurried back to the Greyhound bus waiting in the parking lot, checked in and got onto the bus. She dropped into her seat in the middle of the bus and grabbed her backpack, shoving the box, still inside of the plast bag, to the very bottom, underneath her sweatshirt for when the bus got cold and the CD player and her copy of _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_.

A few people started trickling back onto the bus and Sammie clamped her headphones over her ears to avoid communication. She didn't feel like being social. Kiera eventually sat in her seat next to Sammie, but didn't bother her friend. Instead, Kiera reached into her own bag and pulled out her CD player, covering her own ears with headphones and picking at the cuticles on her right hand.

Once the buses were full and everyone accounted for, they rolled and bumped and creaked their way out of the Wal-Mart parking lot and back onto the road leading to the high way. Sammie stared out the window at the sprawling corn fields flew past them, so lost in her own thoughts that she didn't notice her CD player wasn't even on. Nor did she truly realize when Keira's fingers threaded through hers and squeezed.

The inky, star-dotted sky was as dark and unrelenting as the very bottom of the sea when the bus finally ambled into the lot belonging to a high school in Oklahoma City. Unloading was a slow process as people filed off lethargically and half asleep. Sammie, though, had never been more alert in her life.

Most people crashed back to sleep as soon as the gymnasium had been littered with bedrolls and air mattresses, but Sammie grabbed her backpack and headed to the bathroom after rolling out her sleeping bag. Locking herself into the farthest stall from the door, she pulled the bag from the bottom of her backpack as quietly as possible. Sammie read the instructions printed on a thin piece of paper folded up within the box and followed them exactly.

And then she waited.

The handful of minutes she waited in the dingy bathroom stall felt like years. Staring at her hands and waiting for a result, she could feel herself age a couple dozen decades. Every second of waiting subtracted a hundred days from her life. Sammie picked at the nails on her left hand, yanking violently at the cuticles until blood dewed at the joining of her fingernails and skin. After half her life had been wiped away by anxiety and stress, she squeezed her eyes shut in terror before looking down.

The ground dropped from beneath her at the same moment her stomach bottomed out. Falling to the ground and turning in a semi-fluid moment, Sammie emptied the contents of her stomach into the toilet she had been sitting on a few seconds before. Sammie jerked toilet paper from the roll and wiped at her mouth, but nothing could rub away the taste of terror from her lips.

The porcelain of the toilet was cold against her sweaty forehead as she closed her eyes and tried to breath deeply enough to stop shaking. The head resting on her back barely surprised her as Kiera crawled under the stall door and sat next to her, threading her fingers through hers.

Kiera didn't say anything, just wrapped her arms around her best friend and held her as she cried, her heart broken and bleeding on the dirty tile floor.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

5 August, 2001

"Glad to see you, Derek, James," Father Berlusconi shook Derek's hand when Derek and James were next in line.

"You too."

"Yeah," James nodded, reaching out now that the Father's hand was free. Derek wasn't antsy or inching to leave the church way he had been just a few months ago. Instead, he exchanged pleasantries with the people he had come to know, with Father Berlusconi and other clergy members, as if he had been coming to _San Giovanni Battista_ his entire life. Since Sammie left for the summer, Derek had only missed three Sunday morning Masses with her family and every Sunday he felt more and more at easy inside the sanctuary. It was feeling more like a home, someplace safe and comfortable.

"God be with you."

"And with you."

"I'll see you next Sunday," Father Berlusconi smiled at them.

"Not next weekend," James shook his head. We're going to Buffalo to see Sam's last DCI competition."

"The week after, then."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

"C'mon, Cloon," Derek grabbed the dog's leash and grinned when Clooney jumped up excitedly, nearly upending the cheap end table besides the couch in his hurry to get to where Derek was besides the door. Hooking the leash onto Clooney's collar, Derek stuffed a tennis ball in the pocket of his shorts and they were out the door.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

6 August, 2001

Sammie glanced in the field house mirror and flattened a hand over her stomach. No one could tell yet. She was still thinner than when she had left for corps, but she could tell. She had only lost fifteen pounds this summer instead of twenty-five or thirty.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

10 August, 2001

"One day, Clooney," Derek zipped up his suitcase.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

11 August, 2001

Derek couldn't have pulled away if he wanted to. The world could have ended right here on the concrete parking lot, every drum corps member could had died at the same moment, busses and instruments set on fire and he wouldn't have known. Everything in his universe, everything that ever mattered or would ever matter to him, stood with her arms wrapped around his back and her lips pressed to his. He opened his eyes briefly, almost as if to check if she was really kissing him, but closed them again and held her tighter.

Pushing up onto her toes, Sammie deepened the kiss and tried to pull him closer, but the attempt was like tugging on a boulder until he, knowing what she wanted, moved for her. Derek picked her up easily and spun her around like they did in movies. Sammie tightened her hold on him, scared for a moment, but somehow a part of her innately knew he would never let her get hurt, never let her fall.

They had to pull back eventually, both gasping for air, and Derek kept his arms around her securely, not ready to let go just yet after so long away from her. But he needn't have worried, because Sammie didn't move away. Sammie rested her cheek against his chest and closed her eyes.

"I love you," he whispered into her into her ear, pressing a kiss after he said the words. "I missed you so much."

"I love you too," she whispered back. She needed to tell him, but she didn't. Instead, she snuggled closer, not wanting to ruin the moment. In this second, everything was perfect, but it couldn't be like this forever. The second she told him, everything – _everything _– would change. He said that he loved her, but, regardless of the way he looked at her with such intense adoration lacing his gaze, Sammie was terrified.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

13 August, 2001

"Hey, Baby Girl," Derek smiled at her sitting on his couch as came in. He unclipped Clooney's leash and let him go over to Sammie, who pet the large dog, careful to keep her hands away from his mouth. Kicking off his shoes, he hung up his gun and holster and headed towards the fridge. He loved hearing her voice saying his name when he got home after a long twelve-hour shift that left him wanting nothing more than to hold her close and kiss her.

"I'm glad you're here, Sam," he reached into the fridge. Derek smiled widely when she came into back view and he put his can down on the laminate countertop to wrap his arms around her waist as she stepped into his embrace.

"You look beautiful, Sam," he whispered and kissed her.

"You say that every time you see me."

"It's true every time I see you."

"I have to talk to you."

"Am I in trouble?"

She didn't answer. Derek let her lead him to the couch in the living room and pulled her close when she sat next to him. She leaned against his side, resting her head on his shoulder and enjoying the way his arm curved around her back so that his hand relaxed on the fleshy curve of her waist for a second before pulling back.

"Okay. This _is_ serious. What's going on?"

"Derek… I-I…" Sammie looked down at her hands and took a deep breath. "Derek, I'm pregnant."

o o o o

_"Fear is, I believe, a most effective tool in destroying the soul of an individual – and the soul of a people." – Anwar el-Sadat_

* * *

**A/N:**

**WRITER'S BLOCK! IT PLAGUES ME SO! I'm sorry it's taken sooooooo freaking long. It's a combination of the worse case to writers block in the history of ever - well, at least MY history of ever - and finals and hockey and finals. And more finals. Did I mention finals? LMAO! I'd write a longer authors note, BUT I have to go take a... wait for it, wait for it... FINAL! T_T; Thank God it's almost over!**

**Love, Thalia  
**

**P.S. You're not missing much in the author's note - It would mostly be me rambling about hockey.**** Also, my fish are acting very strange.**

**P.P.S. WE BEAT CHICAGO! Granted... my boys decided not to show up for games four and five and game six was won by the referees, so I was really pissed, but WE STILL BEAT THEM! HA! Okay. Now I'm done. Okay, no I'm not. Alex Burrows scored the series winner in game seven overtime. Burr purposefully skated around Dank, who was trying to jump on him in celebration, so he (Burr) could do his bow&arrow celebration in tribute to his best friend Luc Bourdon, a D-man who was killed in a motorcycle accident in May of 2008. The bow&arrow was Luc's trademark celebration. But Burr was so excited that he lost his balance, slipped and fell on his back. Then everyone dog-piled him. That night, Bob McKenzie from TSN tweeted, "Somewhere, Luc Bourdon is smiling at his pal Alex Burrows." And I, being me, started crying. The next day, I was on tumblr and saw a 'shopped picture of the stat-report from Burr's goal. The goal was unassisted. Burr gloved it down, broke away, shot the rolling puck and buried it behind Crawford. It was one of those never-to-be-replicated sort of goals. But someone had screenshot the stat-report and, under Burr's name where the assist would be listed had there been one, added "Assists: Luc Bourdon." I cried so hard.**

**P.P.P.S. If you're a Chicago fan, Crawford was _sick_. He was definitely the MVP of the entire series. The kid was amazing.**

**P.P.P.P.S. "Vancouver is a family, so we''ll do it for Bourdon and we'll do it for Manny."**


	28. Chapter 28

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.**

* * *

"_Fear is a noose that binds until it strangles." – Jean Toomer_

o o o o

15 August, 2001

"What's going on?"

"Derek… I-I…" Sammie looked down at her hands and took a deep breath. "Derek, I'm pregnant."

"You're… you're _pregnant_?" He stared at her, stunned and in shock.

She nodded without looking up.

"You're pregnant."

Another nod.

"We're going to have a baby."

Sammie nodded again.

"Are you sure?"

"I went to the free clinic today," her voice was barely above a whisper. "I got an ultrasound."

"How… how far along are you? Do you know?"

"About eleven weeks."

"Oh my God." Derek rubbed a head over the back of his head, his mouth hanging slightly open and his gaze staring straight ahead, trying desperately to process the unexpected information she sprung on him. He sat nearly motionless for long moments before pushing off the couch and pacing back and forth, as if he could fix this problem by wearing a rut in the faded carpeting.

Sammie bit her bottom lip and watch him, waiting for a reaction. Her eyes watered slightly as she looked away from him and started yanking on her cuticles again. He didn't want her now. He didn't want it. She should have known. _She should have known!_ She should have known Derek was too perfect to be true, that he would never seriously want someone like her.

"I'm not getting rid of it, if that's what you want. I'm not having an abortion." Her voice was cold and harsh, dissociating herself from the situation and desperately trying to build walls to protect her heart. Keeping her heart from him was like trying to keep the sun from the sky. "You don't have to be around. I'll take the baby and you don't –"

"No!" Derek protest was loud, startled and a bit frightened, as he turned on his heal. He pulled her up into his arms and he tightened his hold her, kissing her hard and insistently. "Don't you dare."

"You don't –"

"Where's the ultrasound?" He asked, pulling back to look at her. "Where is it? I want to see. I want to see our baby."

Sammie's heart nearly jumped from her chest and she leaned her forehead against his chest, trying to catch the breath she'd been holding for the past few weeks. He wasn't going to make her do this alone.

"_Io ti amo_," he whispered breathlessly, pressing kisses to her cheekbone, her temple, by her ear. "_Ti amo_, Samantha Murdoch."

"_Veramente_?" Her question was hesitant and terrifed but hopeful, almost as though she feared to let herself believe this was true, to believe that he truly loved her the way he professed to.

"_Veramente_. Ultrasound, Sammie. Please. I want to see our baby." His hand hovered briefly over her abdomen before tentatively resting there.

Derek waited impatiently as she leaned over and reached into her bag sitting on the ground. She unfolded the paper and his breath caught in amazement when he finally saw the black and white sonogram that, even in it's fuzziness, clearly showed a head, a forehead, a curved neck, a spine, what he thought might be the beginning of an arm… His child.

"Oh my, God." He couldn't tear his eyes away from the sonogram printout Sammie held for him to see. Derek hugged her too him and Sammie finally let herself relax into his embrace. Neither one said anything for what felt like hours. Derek just stared at the fuzzy image of his child and Sammie couldn't form words through the overwhelming emotions trying to drown her as she clung to Derek like a life raft.

"_Cosa faremo di fare?_" She finally asked, her voice raw and broken. "What are we going to do?"

"We need to get married," Derek whispered into Sammie's neck as he held her wrapped as tightly in his arms as he could. She started sobbing violently and trying to yank herself from his grip.

"No! no, no, no, no!" Sammie twisted, but Derek held fast.

"It's okay, Baby. It's going to be okay, Sam. We'll be alright.. We'll… we'll figure this out together."

"We're not getting married!" Sammie pulled her hands from his and pushed against his broad chest. "Not getting married. Absolutely not."

"What?" Confused, he tilted his head back to he could see into her eyes. "Sam, we're going to have a kid."

"I don't want to marry you," She dragged the back of her hand across her nose, not quite meeting his gaze.

"Why not?" Derek's stomach plummeted for the second time that hour.

"I don't want to be married just because we have a child," Sammie whispered. "I don't want to be stuck in a loveless marriage like my mum."

Derek crushed her to him without giving her a chance to react and curled his shoulder inward to wrap himself around her as much as possible in their current position. "That will_ never_ happen to us," he told her vehemently. "That will never happen. I won't let it. _Io ti amo_. Sam, I love you more than anything."

"_Ora_," her response was muffled from where her face had been pressed against Derek's arm. "Now."

"_Sempre_," Derek disagreed. "Always. For the rest of my life. Sammie. No matter what you believe… Baby, you are my everything, everyday for the rest of my life. Nothing will ever change that. I'll go to my grave in love with you."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

16 August, 2001

Derek didn't know how, but he wound up on the steps of _San Giovanni Battista_ looking up at the towering stone church. Hesitating only slightly, he pushed the heavy doors open and walked inside. Dipping the tips of his fingers in the holy water, he crossed himself, whispering "_Signore Ges__ù__ Cristo, Figlio di Dio, abbi piet__à di me peccatore_."

Derek walked down the center isle of the church, taking in the beautiful stain glass artwork adoring the windows and the tapestries and paintings on the wall. He knelt at the alter and preformed the Sign of the Cross a second time. "_Nel nome del Patre e del Figlio e dello Spirito Santo. Amen._"

He knew the words to the prayers in English, but they came more naturally in Italian, the language he'd learned them in. Derek didn't get up from his kneeling position, but stayed at a loss for words. He was here, but he didn't know what to say.

"Derek?" Father Berlusconi said his name quietly.

"Father."

"What's troubling you, son?"

"It's nothing," Derek tried to say, but the priest smiled kindly at him as if to say he didn't believe him for a moment.

"_Getta il tuo peso nel Signore ed egli ti darà sostegno, egli non permetterà mai che il giusto per essere scosso,_" Derek caught a few words, but not enough to understand the entire sentence. Father Berlusconi smiled and repeated, "Cast your burden upon the Lord and He will sustain you; He will never allow the righteous to be shaken.

"How do you remember all these verses?" Derek stared down at his white sneakers. "I can only remember two."

"When I was a boy, my mother would make my brother and I memorize a passage from Scripture once a week. If we got most of it right, we would get a _centesimo_ – the equivalent of an American penny. If we memorized it entirely, we got two _centesimo_. If we could recite the one from the week before as well, we would get three. I had a very fat piggy bank," Father Berlusconi laughed at the memory. "As I grew older, the pennies started mattering less and less and the Word started mattering more and more."

Derek nodded, but didn't say anything. He always felt small around Father Berlusconi. Not the way he felt small around Carl Buford, but the way he used to feel small around his dad. Here was this great man who was so much greater than anything he could hope to be. Here was this great man from whom Derek wanted so much to learn. He hadn't been given the chance to really learn from his dad, but he had the chance to learn now. He was just afraid that he had ruined it now.

His dad would be disappointed in him, yes, but what would Father Berlusconi do when he found out what he and Sammie had done? Would he give up on him? The priest was the first man to pursue his heart and not what something in return.

"Which two verses do you have memorized?"

"Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will runs and not grow weary, they will walk and no be faint." Derek quoted the verse from Isaiah. "It was my aunt Yvonne's favourite verse. My cousin Cindy, my sisters and I painted it on the wall in her kitchen when we were kids."

"And the other?"

"Jeremiah twenty-nine, eleven. That one's my dad's favourite," Derek glanced at the crucifix hanging above the altar. "'For I know the plans I have for you,' declared the Lord, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you home and a future.'"

"If you're going to memorize two verses, those two are very good choices," Father Berlusconi nodded.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

Fran Morgan looked up from her book when she heard the front door open and shut. "Hello?"

"It's me, Mama."

"Hey, Baby Boy. This is a nice surprise," Fran put the book down as Derek rounded the corner into view. Her smile faded when she saw his face. "Okay, maybe it's not such a nice surprise. What's going on, Derek?"

"I, uh, I have something to tell you. No, sit, you don't have to get up," Derek held up a hand as his mom started to stand. He sat down on the couch across from her armchair and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees.

"What's going on? Is everything okay?"

"Uh… well, uh, Mom, Sammie's…" Derek squeezed his eyes shut and hesitated a split second before opening his mouth again. "Mom, Sammie's pregnant."

Fran was glad she hadn't stood up, because the floor fell out from under her.

Derek stayed quiet and let his mom digest the news for a couple minutes. The thirty minutes of silence felt like five years to Derek, but he kept his mouth closed, too terrified to do anything else.

"What are you two going to do?"

"I'm going to ask her to marry me," Derek looked up to meet her eyes. "I love her, Mom. I'd marry her anyways, I just wasn't really planning on it right now. Or with a kid on the way. I know how much I messed up, Mom. I'm going to make it better, though. I'm going to take care of her and… it. I'm going to make this right. Or as right as I can."

"I know you will," Fran reached out and took his head with a sad smile on her face. As much as she teased him about wanting grandchildren, she hadn't meant right this second.

"I'm sorry, Mom. I know you're… I'm sorry."

"Oh, Derek, I can't say this is okay," she shook her head. "I like Sammie. But she's so young. _You're_ so young. She's not even out of school and you've only been at the station for two years. Why weren't you more careful, Derek?"

"We _were_ careful, Mom."

Fran gave him a look that clearly said, _'Obviously not careful enough.' _Derek hung his head.

"I'm sorry, Mama."

"Get up." Fran stood and looked at him expectantly.

"I think I'm a little old to be spanked, Mom," Derek said as he got up obediently. He followed his mother through the townhouse and up the stairs to the second floor. Fran walked right into her bedroom, but Derek hovered in the doorframe. The room had been off-limits his entire life and now it felt strange to think about going in.

"Come here."

Apparently, he was going in anyways. Padding across the carpeted room, he stopped next to her where she stood in front of her dresser. Out of her jewelry box, she pulled a small, black velvet box and held it out to him.

"Give this to Sammie."

Derek cracked the box open. "Mom, this is the rang Dad gave you."

"And now you'll give it to your Sam."

"Mama, I can afford a ring," Derek tried to give the box back. "I mean, not a big one, but I can afford one."

"I want you to have this one, Derek. If you really don't want this one, that's fine. But if you're saying 'no' because of pride, you're being silly. She deserves a beautiful ring, Baby Boy. Give her this one."

"You sure, Mom?"

"I'm sure." Fran closed his hand over the box and pushed it towards him. "I'm sure. Unfortunately, thought, I don't think you're not going to be able to marry her."

"Why not?" Derek frowned.

"Because when her family finds out she's pregnant, they're going to kill you."

"Yeah, I already thought about that one."

"My baby's going to get married. My baby's going to have a baby. Oh my God."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

18 August, 2001

"C'mon, Sam," Derek held his hand out for hers. "Let's just take a walk."

Sammie nodded and threaded her fingers through his, following his lead through Washington Square Park like she had a hundred times before. It was one of their favourite places to walk together, to relax and talk. Derek pulled her close and kissed her temple.

"I love you, Baby Girl."

"I love you too," Sammie tucked her spare hand into the crook of his elbow and pressed closer to his side as they walked. "It's pretty out tonight."

"Yeah, it is," Derek reached his hand into his pocket and clasped his hand around the small velvet box hidden there as McCormick's fountain in the center of the park came into view. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine. Scared, but fine."

"I'm scared too."

"You are?" Sammie looked up at him.

"Of course I am," Derek squeezed her hand. "Sam, I'm… I'm going to be a dad. I have no idea how to do that."

"You really want this?"

"I'd rather have waited until you were out of school, but it came now and, yeah, I want this. With you, I want this – him or her."

"I have an audition with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra on Monday. One of the clarinetists left, so they're holding auditions. I've also got an audition with Lyric Opera. They need a pianist. And I'll go back to the restaurant, of course. And –"

"Sam, you're _pregnant_," Derek cut her off. "Where exactly do you think you're going to get all this time and energy?"

"I have to get at least one."

"I can take care of us, Baby Girl," he shook his head, stopping and turning her to look at him. "You don't have to worry."

"Derek, babies are expensive. I need to take one music job and part-time at the restaurant or we'll be in over our heads."

"Okay," Derek nodded, leaning down to kiss her. "Music, because you love it, and the restaurant because it's family. But you need to relax some, Baby Girl."

"I can't relax. I have to tell my family that I'm twenty-one, unmarried and pregnant," Sammie leaned her forehead against his chest.

"Well, I can't change two of those," Derek started, pulling his hand and the small box from his pocket, "but I can change one of them. Sammie, I know this isn't exactly how either of us planned it to happen, but when does life ever go exactly according to our plans?"

Sammie's eyes widened and she stared up at him, dumbfounded.

"I can't promise that the rest of our lives won't be difficult or scary or full of stuff we didn't plan, but I can promise that I will love you forever and that want to I spend the rest of my life doing everything I can to make you happy and build a good life for us and this little baby. This isn't where I wanted to do this – I wanted to propose in Ponsiglione's right after you graduated, but life changed my plans for me."

Derek held her hand and knelt down in front of her, making her eyes water and the few people in the square around them gasp in surprise.

"Samantha Murdoch, mi vuoi sposa?" he opened the box to show his mother's engagement ring and Sammie pulled her lips in between her teeth and wiped at the tears trying to fall. She tried to answer, but all that came out was gasping, watery noises, so she nodded hard. Derek stood up quickly and pulled her into his arms, spinning her around before setting her back on her feet and kissing her. Pulling the ring from the box, he shoved the black box back in his pocket and slipped the ring onto her finger. "It's a little big," he whispered, ignoring the park patrons clapping for them. "We'll have to get it sized. It's the ring my dad gave my mom. I hope you don't mind. I'll get you your own ring some day."

"This is perfect," Sammie shook her head, looking down at the ring she had to hold onto her left ring finger to keep from slipping off. "Is your mom sure? Does she know?"

"Know I'm giving you the ring or know we're having a baby? Yes to both. And, yes, she's sure. She wanted me to give it to you."

"We're getting married." Sammie marveled, staring at her sparkling ring in awe.

"We're getting married," Derek smiled, catching her lips with his and kissing her, trying to tell her how much he loved her without words, that everything was going to be okay.

o o o o

_"Love is like an earthquake – unpredictable, a little scary, but when the hard part is over, you realize how lucky you truly are." – Author Unknown_

* * *

**A/N:**

**WRITER'S BLOCK. I HAVE CONQUERED IT! :D I'm one happy camper. :)**

**AJ & Paget are coming back and that awful Seaver character is leaving! I'M SO EXCIIIIIIITED! Nothing against Rachel Nichols, I'm feel bad for her because she was treated like crap, but the character sucked more than my algae eater and no actress could have saved Seaver.**

**Okay... let the hockey rambling commence.**

**OH MY *$&($*$)#**)#($*)(#! WE'RE GOING TO THE STANLEY CUP FINALS! FOR THE FIRST TIME IN 17 YEARS! I cannot contain my excitement. You have no idea. ****I'm freaking happy right now. crying. As soon as we won, I was legitimately bawling my eyes out. I screamed so loud I woke the people above us. It was midnight in Texas. My Mum was up visiting my aunt in North Texas and I**** totally called her at midnight to shout and cheer. I was crying so hard from excitement that I think she thought someone had died. ****WE'RE GOING TO THE FUCKING STANELY CUP FINALS!**

**But first - A recap:**

**ROUND ONE:**** I already exploded about beating Chicago last time. **

**ROUND TWO: Nashville... it was like the battle of the defense. To the naked/untrained eye, it could be considered a ridiculously boring series. To my eyes, it was intense. They're a classy team with a classy and fantastic coach. Pekka Rinne was freaking beast. He wasn't just standing on his head, he was doing aerials. Both goalies were. And RYAN FREAKING KESLER. WHAT A BAMF. I mean, he was such a beast. Oh my god. And then Tamby! In his first playoff game EVER - game six, he legitimately saved the game by chasing down Erat who was on a complete 1-1 breakaway and over a zone ahead of Tamby and then ((legally)) checking him so Erat didn't get a penalty shot! OH MY GOD. I was like, "...MARRY ME." lol! Play of the game. Without a doubt. And that's on top of Kes in beast-mode and Lu going all brick wall on 'em. Unfortunately, we lost Sammy. :( Out for the season with a sports hernia. Ouchie. But it definitely explains what could be considered a sub-par season. Can't wait to see him all patched up next year.**

**ROUND THREE:**** San Jose... Ohhhh NoWayJose! Sorry. I couldn't help it. What to say about San Jose... It was a realy good series, but, honestly, I wanted to play the Red Wings. But it was a good series which resulted in going to the STANLEY CUP FINALS! So I'm happy. The Sedins made everyone go like, "OMGWTFJUSTHAPPENED?" Literally. I'm so not joking. The commentators were sitting there going, "I have no idea how they did that!" and I was just like, :D "...Wizardous Sedinary..." ****Ugh. AND KES WAS STILL BEAST! Just not _quite_ as beast as he was in the NSH series, though he did come back in injured during game 5 and then scored the game tying goal with 13 freakin seconds to spare, which lead to the OT that won us the series!. BUT KEVIN CHRISTOPHER BIEKSA! Ugh. First off, mad props to Marleau for dropping the gloves on Juice. A+ for guts. Secondly, GORRRRDIE HOWE HAT TRICK! Third, Three goals, three games, NBD. Fourth, HE SCORED THE SERIES WINNING GOAL IN DOUBLE OVERTIME! Like I said earlier, I screamed so loud I woke the people above me. Seriously, though, that man... he's been through so much with this team. People spent years screaming to trade him and I've been screaming "NO ARE YOU CRAZY YOU CAN'T GET RID OF HIM YOU'RE OUT OF YOUR MIND!" And now they're all finally realizing what I've known about him for five seasons. Of course, now they're all jumping on his bandwagon and pretending they've been there the entire time... You know who you are.**

**Round Four: Game one against Boston... VAN 1, BOS 0. Yup. We won. Raffi scored the ONLY goal... 18 seconds before the game ended. Oh yeah. It was beauuuuutiful. Btw, I have an emotional attachment to Raffi's epic playoff beard. Lu was aaaaaaaaahmazing. But seriously... he's the only Keep that can post a freaking shutout in the STANLEY CUP FINALS and be describes as 1, second best, and 2, "meh." Seriously. Go lie in the middle of the street. In other news, Burr bit Bergeron during a scrum. Oh Burr... Stupid move. Oh Bergeron... don't put your fingers in peoples mouths when your facewashing them if you don't want to get bitten. Oh. And my Cory's blogging about the SCF. Life=perfection.**

**So I'm a happy camper. To quote Mater, "I'm happier than a tornada in a trailer park." I'm be even happier when Hank raises Lord Stanley in a couple weeks though. :) CM, Hockey, MM and CC are finally updated... all is right in my world.**

**Thanks so much for reading and, if you got all the way through this A/N, well... wow. That's just... wow. I probably wouldn't have had the dedication. :D Anyways Thanks for reading and tell me what you think - good or bad!**

**Love, Thalia**


	29. Chapter 29

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.**

* * *

"_Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonour others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails." – 1 Corinthians 13:4-8_

o o o o

17 August, 2001

Derek pulled up on a scene that broke his heart. His Sammie sat on the front stoop of her house with her arms around Crookshanks like the ginger tabby cat was the only thing keeping her from jumping. Derek barely got the kickstand of his bike down before he jumped off and ran towards her and, even then, the bike rocked dangerously for a few seconds before settling.

"Sam? Baby?" Derek wrapped his arms around her tight and the cat jumped away, hissing angrily. "Baby? What's wrong?"

"You need to go," Sammie shook her head.

"What? No–"

"You have to go," Sammie insisted, pushing him away. "I told Mum."

"And?"

"She's making a list of all the ways she's going to kill you. Derek, you have to go."

"_Ti amo, mia bella ragazza_," he whispered into her ear. "I'm not going anywhere. We're in this together, Sam. I'm not going to let you do this by yourself. C'mon, let's go in."

"I'm scared to go back in," Sammie admitted, leaning her head against his shoulder in acceptance that he wasn't going to leave. They sat that way in silence for a long while before Derek managed to get her up off the porch.

"It's going to be okay," he squeezed her hand as they walked inside. They couple didn't even make it through the house to the kitchen where Andria could easily be heard slamming cupboard doors when James got in their way with his arms cross over his chest and his icy blue eyes ablaze. "James, I–"

James' right hook connected with Derek's jaw and Sammie screamed. James swung again and Derek didn't try to protect himself as James nearly knocked him over.

"Stop it! What are you doing? James, stop it right now!" Sammie kept shouting as James pummeled the conscientiously defenseless Derek. "Stop it! James, don't!"

Panting and still furious, James stopped after landing half a dozen shots. Derek righted himself. James glanced back at the ring on Sammie's finger and threw his hardest punch yet, knocking Derek backwards into an occasional chair and broke beneath Derek's fall. James stormed away, slamming the front door behind him, as Sammie shouted and dropped next to Derek.

"I'm okay," Derek assured her as he held his hand to the bloody cut on his cheek. "I'm fine, Sam."

"He shouldn't have done that," Sammie was crying again, but Derek shook his head, laughing softly.

"If I were James, I would have done the same thing," he admitted, pushing himself off the remains of the broken chair and stretching out his back. "Please tell me that chair's replaceable."

The look on Sammie's face told him otherwise, "_Bisnonno_ Emilio brought it over from Italy when he emigrated."

"Shit."

"Samantha Shane Cecilia Murdoch! Get in here. And bring _him_ with you."

"Cecilia?" Derek looked at her in confusion.

"Confirmation name. Cecilia's the patron saint of musicians," Sammie answered distractedly as they walked slowly towards the kitchen.

"It's going to be okay, Sam."

"Yeah. But only because the police still have Dad's gun in evidence."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

Clooney lay curled up at the end of the bed, sound asleep blissfully unaware that his partner lay wide-awake and staring at the ceiling as if the solutions to the mess his life had become could somehow be found there. He had sat at the Murdoch's kitchen table while Andria verbally demolished him, the words coming out so fast that he couldn't keep up with translating them. Sammie, though, could understand every rushed utterance and, by the look on her face, Derek was almost glad he hadn't known what was being said.

The side of his face where James had drawn blood was swelling slightly and Derek was trying to conjure the lie he would tell his coworkers tomorrow. Derek rolled over onto his side and stared out the window at the moon. There were too many lights to be able to see any stars, but the crescent moon was still a sight to behold. One day he and Sammie and their baby would live somewhere where they could see the stars. Maybe the suburbs like where Sammie grew up, though Derek wasn't sure if stars were visible in the suburbs.

Clooney snorted in his sleep and Derek rolled again. His thoughts raced too quickly to be calmed and Derek pulled the pillow over his head. He had almost stressed himself to sleep when his cell phone rang on the nightstand.

"Hello?" Derek pulled the phone under the pillow with him.

"_If you hurt her, I'm going to kill you."_

"Hi, James."

"_What the hell's wrong with you?"_

"This exact second?"

"_Don't be an ass. I can't believe you did this. That's my sister!"_

"James, it wasn't exactly on purpose. We didn't plan for this to happen."

"_You shouldn't have even been touching her! I can't believe–"_

"I didn't realize I had to ask your permission! And I am _not_ having this conversation with you, James. I'm sorry this happened, I'd change it if I could, but I can't. I can take care of her and the baby. I can give them a good life and I'm going to do that. I know you're angry. Hell, I'd want to kill me if I were you. But killing me won't make this go away."

"_I'd feel better, though," James fumed._

"For a little while. Ten minutes. Half an hour maybe. But then Sammie would be alone and your niece or nephew wouldn't have a father."

James hung up.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

19 August, 2001

"I… I… Uh…" Sammie stuttered a little before stopping and taking a deep breath. With renewed resolve, she held her head up and started again. "_Derek e io ci sposiamo._ We're getting married."

"Samantha Shane!" was the only phrase Derek understood as the room seemingly exploded from every side. Most people shouted, a few started and others, like Claudio and Viviana, stared in disbelief. Gia seemed to be the only one pleased by the announcement and sat perched on a chair smiling in a way that reminded Derek of Crookshanks when she managed to successfully extricate one of the goldfish from its' bowl.

Emilio Campaniello stared at his eldest son while he repeated the announcement Emilio had missed. Derek groaned inwardly when the old man's features darkened drastically and he motioned for Sammie to come to where he sat. Derek didn't want to let go on Sammie's hand. He didn't want to let her go over there by herself, but she looked up at him and nodded, gently pulling her hand from his.

He watched protectively as she walked across the restaurant over to her great-grandfather. Sammie knelt down in front of the chair and Derek flinched reflexively when Emilio reached out and grabbed Sammie's chin. Derek relaxed, but just slightly, when he realized the man was only going to study Sammie's face.

"_Fuori_." Emilio ordered everyone out of the restaurant, which was quite a presuming feat considering how many people were packed inside. Derek stood his ground as people stared and glared while they passed him on their way to the front door. Before long, though it felt like hours, the entire restaurant was empty sans Derek, Sammie, Andria, Emilio and Emilio's eldest son, Sammie's great-uncle Alberto.

As much as Derek hated to admit it, Emilio Campaniello, small, wrinkled and frail as he was, terrified him beyond anything in the world. Alberto looked down his nose at Derek, which was rather awkward because Derek was the taller of the two men by at least three inches. For the briefest moment Derek dared to hope the conversation would take place in English. He should have known better.

"You're pregnant." Emilio said factually.

Samantha nodded.

Their group of five moved to the office in the back as the rest of the family shuffled right back into the restaurant and next three hours in the office were spent in a mixture of shouting and calm talking, a few moments of translation when Derek got himself completely lost in the conversation.

At the end of the conversation Derek felt like he'd run a five-K. At the end of the conversation his entire life had been planned for him. Oddly enough, he didn't entirely mind.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

21 August, 2001

"So… you're getting married," Father Berlusconi stated, looking at the two of them. One glance at the priests face and Derek knew that Father Berlusconi knew without having to ask. "Are we having a Mass?"

"No," Sammie said quickly, glancing at Derek. "None of Derek's family would be able to take communion and they wouldn't understand everything that's going on. I don't want them to feel…" she stopped, fumbling for the right word.

"You don't want them to feel alienated," Father Berlusconi supplied and Sammie nodded.

"You sure?" Derek squeezed her hand to tell her that, if she wanted a Mass, they would do a Mass.

"I'm sure."

"The fifteenth of September?" Father Berlusconi read the date first opening aloud. "That would give us a chance to go through marriage preparation and counseling you will need to have a successful marriage. The fifteenth sound alright?"

ooo ooo ooo ooo

15 September, 2001

The doors opened as the choir started singing and the assembly stood in relative unison. The cross bearer walked ahead of Father Berlusconi, Derek remembered from the rehearsal, but he didn't look up from his shoes until both had passed him and the two flower girls, Gia and Isabella, start prancing down the isle in poufy white dresses, tossing white rose pedals on either side. He smiled when Gia's mother, Perla, reached out from the isle slightly in a 'slow down' motion. The two little girls slowed slightly after that and Derek saw the ring bearer, Roberto, walking down the isle staring intently at the two rings carefully attached to the white satin pillow as if the six-year-old were afraid the rings might vanish should he look away from them. Keira came next in a simple green dress with her bright red hair pulled away from her face. She was beautiful, but Derek's eyes went straight past her to look for Sammie as he tugged down on the bottom of his tuxedo jacket.

It wasn't until Keira had made it to the front that Sammie came into view, holding James' left arm and looking so pale and scared Derek wondered if she had any blood left in her body. No one else had seen her yet or turned to look; James kissed her cheek and whispered briefly in her ear and Sammie smiled a smile that seemed to light her from the inside out. Her eyes brightened, her shoulders released tension and she looked absolutely beautiful in the white satin gown. The empire waistline and gathering across her stomach easily hid the tiny bump forming and Derek was glad, not because he cared, but because he knew she wouldn't want to look pregnant in her wedding pictures. Above the empire waist, the white satin was gathered in a scoop neck to petal sleeves that covered her shoulders and the tops of her arms. A jeweled headband sat in her short blond hair and long sheer veil covered her face. He could live a thousand lives and the image of her right now would never fade in his memory.

Derek's face must have changed, because everyone turned to look towards the door in the same moment. The collective gasp that filled the sanctuary nearly bowled Derek over and later he had no idea how he'd stayed upright. Somehow he managed it as he watched Sammie walk towards him. Their eyes locked early and the contact never broke until Sammie and James stopped at the top of the isle. James lifted Sammie's veil, pulled her into a hug and kissed her cheek before turning to Derek. The two exchanged what started as a handshake and ended as a hug that let Derek know he wasn't quite forgiven yet, but would be eventually. James took his spot beside Derek as the best man, a position that, just a few seconds ago, Derek hadn't yet been a hundred percent sure James would take. Part of him half expected James to stalk back down the isle and storm out of the church.

Sammie bit her lip nervously, but smiled at Derek – absolutely terrified, but still completely sure. Reaching out to take her hand, Derek lead her to the alter and they knelt together. He only made it through the ceremony on autopilot, partially as terrified as Sammie was and partially unable to believe this was truly happening. He was really marrying Sammie, she had really said yes. He half expected to wake up at any moment.

"Derek and Samantha, have you come here freely and without reservation to give yourselves to each other in marriage?" Father Berlusconi asked the first part of the Statement of Intentions.

"Yes," both Derek and Sammie answered together, Derek purely on instinct and adrenaline, because he hadn't fully heard the question.

"Will you honour each other as man and wife for the rest of your lives?"

"Yes."

"Will you accept children lovingly from God, and bring them up according to the law of Christ and his Church?"

"Yes."

"Since it is your intention to entire into marriage, join your right hands, and declare your consent before God and His Church."

Derek took Sammie's hand and looked down at her, smiling as reassuringly as he could before reciting the vows he had memorized. "I, Derek, take you, Samantha, for my wife. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honour you all the days of my life."

"I, Samantha, take you, Derek, to be my husband. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honour you all the days of my life," Sammie's voice wavered slightly, but her eyes never left his.

James gently nudged six-year-old Roberto and the rings up to the Father Berlusconi when he received the nod.

"Lord, bless these rings which we bless in your name. Grant that those who wear them may always have a deep faith in each other. May they do your will and always live together in peace, good will, and love. Through Christ our Lord. Amen."

"Samantha, take this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit," Derek first slipped the engagement ring and then the wedding band onto her finger, pushing them over her knuckle until they rested where they belonged.

Sammie took Derek's ring from Father Berlusconi and nearly dropped it as she raised it to Derek's hand. "Oh no!" she gasped and managed to retain her grasp on it. Derek smiled widely and the sanctuary chuckled as Sammie flushed brightly red.

"Derek, take this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit." Her face was still red while she slid the ring onto his finger.

The Lord's Prayer and Blessing passed Derek almost without notice; he was too preoccupied with the new weight on his left hand. The feeling was odd, would take some getting used to, but not unpleasant. Derek glanced at Sammie out of his peripheral vision. Together, they stood and turned to face their friends and family.

"Ladies and Gentleman, it's my pleasure to present to you Mr. and Mrs. Derek Morgan."

Derek helped Sammie down the steps and, when they reached the bottom, leaned down to kiss her. The kiss felt like none of the others he had shared with her and like all of them rolled into one. This was his for the rest of his life.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

"You scared?" Derek asked her later that night as they climbed up the stairs to their apartment, both exhausted from the exuberant celebration at Ponsiglione's that had gone on for hours. He slipped one hand into hers and pulled the keys out of his pocket with the other.

"Of what?" Sammie looked up at him. Derek thumbed the wedding ring on her finger. "Oh," she said stupidly, glancing at the ring.

"Are you scared?" He asked again when she just kept staring at the ring.

"I… I'm… no," she shook her head like she was surprised with herself. "I'm not scared. I'm not scared at all. I don't know why I'm not, but I'm not."

"Yeah," Derek squeezed her hand and opened the front door to see Crookshanks laying, asleep, on Clooney's back in the middle of the living room. "Neither am I."

o o o o

"_There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love." – 1 John 4:18_

* * *

**A/N:**

**Mmkay. I'm too angry about hockey and the sports media and comments blown out of proportion and edited with the soul purpose of creating drama and all this crap to write a coherent author's note that won't degenerate into me ranting and raving like a lunatic. Because I'm literally on the verge of crying right now and, as I'm sure all of you have deduced by now, hockey is pretty much my entire life. Pathetic? Maybe. I'd get a new one, but they're too expensive. If were really just dying to hear my next hockey explosion, I guess you can message me and I'll explode, but otherwise I'll spare you. Because I'm sure the majority of you who read this story don't give two shakes about hockey and probably skim over my author's notes at best. If you're just dying to know what could possibly have me so upset when my babies are one win away from raising Lord Stanley, google "On Stanley Cup Final coverage and the problem of bias Pass it to Bulis" and read the article. That will pretty much sum up my rage, anger, sadness, complete mental break down, etc.**

**In other news - there will now be a glossary at the end after my author's notes that translate the Italian into English. One of my friends asked for it, so here it is! Eventually, I'll go back and add it to the other chapters, but not right now.**

**Okay. Now I'm going to go rock back and fourth in my closet while holding my Canucks jersey and trying desperately not to get tears on the autographs. I may or may not also be cradling my autographed pictures of Luc Bourdon and Roberto Luongo as well. Maybe my Presidents Trophy and Fear the Twins t-shirts too. Maybe.**

**Yall know the drill - thanks so much for reading, I love you all and, please, tell me what you think - good or bad - because my mental state is highly unstable right now and I need love, even if it comes in the form of constructive criticism. *cue The Beatles***

**Love, Thalia**

**P.S. OH! If I screwed anything up in the Catholic wedding service, I'm crazy sorry. I did a lot of research and did my best with it, but I'm 1) not Catholic and 2) human, so I might have messed it up.**

* * *

Glossary

_Ti amo, mia bella ragazza – I love you, my beautiful girl_

_Derek e io ci sposiamo. – Derek and I are getting married_

_Bisnonno – great grandfather_

_Fuori – out _


	30. Chapter 30

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.**

* * *

"_Perhaps the feeling that we experience when we are in love represents a normal state. Being in love shows a person who they can be." – Anton Chekhov_

o o o o

20 September, 2001

There was no honeymoon for Derek and Sammie. In the wake of the attacks on the Twin Towers just four days before their wedding, the Chicago Police department had cancelled all days off and doubled shifts. Over a week later and everything was still in complete chaos. No one knew what was happening, what would happen, or what to do. So instead, Derek and Sammie jumped into their lives, with Sammie landing the job as a second clarinetist with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra and Derek returning home from work exhausted to the point of collapsing.

Which was precisely how Derek walked up the steps to their apartment that evening after a twelve-hour shift. He shut the door behind him and closed his eyes as he heard Sammie practicing the third movement of Tchaikovsky's Symphony No. Five. Clooney let out a huffing breath to get Derek's attention.

"Sorry, Cloon," Derek blink, leaned down and unhooked Clooney's leash. Clooney shook himself and trotted off towards his water bowl. Crookshanks watched from his perch high on top of the bookshelf in the corner as Derek tugged off and hung up his equipment belt.

The music stopped for a minute or so before starting again. Derek grabbed a water bottle out of the fridge and walked into the spare bedroom. There were a few boxes piled in a corner that needed opening and contents assembled. Isabella's old crib sat against the wall, sans a mattress that needed replacing, along with her changing table and dresser. The white furniture needed a coat of paint, but was nice and solid otherwise.

Derek picked up the stuffed bear sitting on the desk next to a few other boxes of hand-me-down gifts. The bear's face was squashed and ugly to the point where the toy was almost cute. Putting the bear back down, Derek turned and walked back out, stopping in the doorway to the bedroom he now shared with Sammie. She flipped the page of music and kept playing.

He loved watching her play.

"Oh, hey," Sammie smiled at him when she noticed him watching. "Your dinner's keeping warm in the oven."

"Thanks. You sound fantastic, Angel."

"I hope so. The first concert is in a week. Was today any better?" Sammie started taking apart and cleaning her clarinet.

"It was interesting. People are still freaking out and doing stupid things. Driving erratically, causing accidents," Derek shrugged. Sammie zipped up her clarinet case and tucked it by the wall. She stood and stepped into Derek's arms. Hugging her tightly, he kissed her temple. He loved coming home to her every night.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

26 September, 2001

Derek stepped over the threshold of the small house in Evanston, Illinois, about ten miles north of the apartment he shared with Sammie. The wallpaper was peeling off all the walls and light fixtures had been ripped from the ceiling. The carpeting was destroyed, torn away carelessly and piled in a corner. He barely listened as the realtor told him about the three bedroom, two bathroom house. Instead, he surveyed the damage to the foreclosed upon building.

The man who had owned the home had gone through and torn up anything he could think of when the bank reclaimed the house, but he left no permanent damage. Derek had already been through the house once before, about a week before he and Sammie had gotten married, but now he was going through with the inspector's report. At fifty-five thousand dollars, the house was perfect.

Now he just needed to convince Sammie.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

30 September, 2001

"I'm getting car sick, Derek. Can I take the blindfold off?" Sammie fidgeted in her seat as he turned onto West North Shore Avenue.

"Just a minute. We're almost there," Derek batted her hands away from her face. He parked in front of the little house and turned off the car. "Okay. We're here."

Sammie tugged off her blindfold.

"Where are we?"

"Evanston."

"Why?"

Derek pointed at the house outside her window.

"We're here to look at a house?" Sammie asked, dumbfounded. "Derek, we can't afford a house. Are you insane?"

"The house was foreclosed. The bank's selling it for a lot less than it's worth. We actually can afford this. C'mon, the realtor's meeting us here," Derek unbuckled his seatbelt and started to get out of the car, but Sammie didn't budge.

"You've looked at this house before, haven't you?"

"Yes. Twice. Why?"

"And you've done all the math and stuff."

"Yes."

"And I bet you've already talked to the bank about a loan."

"Yes."

"And that dude that comes through and looks at the place and says whether it's a good idea to buy a house or not–"

"An inspector."

"Yeah, him. He's looked at the house too, hasn't he?"

"Yes. Sam, what's wrong?"

"You didn't even ask me. You didn't say _anything_."

"I wanted to surprise you," Derek's eyebrows knit together in confusion. He hadn't expected this reaction.

"Well… mission accomplished. I'm definitely surprised."

"You're angry."

"No," she shook her head.

"Yes, you are. You're mad at me."

"No, I'm not."

"Sam, I know when you're pretending not to be angry."

"Okay, I'm upset," Sammie stared through the window at the house.

"I'm sorry," Derek hung his head. "I just – I wanted to surprise you and I didn't want to get your hopes up if something was wrong with the house."

"I don't want a house, Derek. I already told you that. I'm fine in the apartment. And you just looked at a house without even talking to me about it."

"Just look at it with me. Please?"

"Ten minutes. Then I want to go home," Sammie agreed and unbuckled her seatbelt, easing herself out of the car. Derek hopped out of the car and practically ran across to the other side to help her out. Together they walked up the walkway to the porch where the realtor was waiting. Derek made the introductions quickly and the realtor let them into the house. Sammie stayed quiet the entire way through, listening to both the realtor and Derek tell her about the house. The realtor left them alone on the porch after they were done.

"So? What do you think?"

Sammie paused for a long while before answering. "It's perfect."

ooo ooo ooo oooo

4 October, 2001

"What are you thinking about, Baby Girl?" Derek whispered against her hair, his hand gently running over her protruding abdomen, feeling the slight bumps of the stretch marks that had begun to appear on her sides like they were brail.

Sammie pressed a kiss to his shoulder and smiled. "I'm thinking about baby names."

"We don't even know if it's a boy or a girl yet," he chuckled, happy at how happy she was.

"I know, but I know what I want to name little baby Morgan. Boy or girl."

"Yeah? Care to share?"

"If it's a girl, I want to name her Elaine."

"Elaine?"

"Elaine Morgan. I love it. It's beautiful. I'd always liked Madison, but Madison Morgan sounds silly. Elaine Morgan. I like it a lot."

"I dunno…"

"You don't like it?" Sammie tilted her head to look at him.

"I kind of like Elizabeth," he told her, giving her a quick kiss.

"I like Elaine."

"I guess we have a few more months to duke it out," he teased. "And if it's a boy?"

"Derek. After his daddy."

"You want to name him after me? No way."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not doing that to my kid. I don't want him growing up being called 'Junior' or 'Little Derek' or 'Derek Junior.' I want him to have his own name. I don't want him to grown up in someone's shadow, much less mine."

"Alright, Babe. I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing," he said for what felt like the millionth time since he'd met her. "You really need to stop apologizing all the time, Angel."

"Okay. I'm sor–"

"Hey. Zip it, Pretty Girl."

"Have you been thinking about names?"

"A little," Derek admitted, still running his fingers over her stomach. Everything within him loved that _his_ child stretched her abdomen, caused the raised marks along her sides, her swollen ankles, the strange cravings she had at two in the morning for green olives dipped in chocolate. Before now, he hadn't believed he wanted kids. He had always been far too driven, too determined to find a way out of Chicago and far away from everything here that tormented him, too set on making it all the way to the FBI. Now, though, with his son or daughter growing inside a woman for whom he would gladly stay in Chicago forever, he could barely wait to met his baby and be a father, spend his life as a cop, work his way up the ladder and be there for his wife and child the way his father had been there.

"Elizabeth, like I said. Lilyan, maybe. Tamera. Kerri. If it's a girl. Shawn. Taylor. Grant. Damian. For a boy. I don't know. Just ideas." Derek kissed her forehead as Sammie snuggled close to him. "I haven't really set my heart on any names, but I've thought about it."

"I love you," she kissed him, scrapping her fingernails through his hair.

"I love you, too, Baby Girl. Have I told you lately how happy I am?"

"Yes, but it's still nice to hear it. Sometimes, I worry that this," Sammie gestured to her stomach, "is just tying you down."

"No, Sam. Nuh-uh. No way. I don't want you to ever think that, Angel. This, you and the baby, you and I, our family… I wouldn't trade it for anything. I want this, Sammie Girl. Don't ever think I don't. And don't let anyone tell you I don't. Don't listen to my cousin. He's a dumbass who just likes to hear his own voice. He's just not smart enough to say anything worthwhile."

"I know, Derek. I know he's all talk. I just don't want to be the reasons you don't achieve your goals. Ya know, follow your dreams and all that."

"Dreams change, Sammie. You find things better than your dreams. This is a helluva lot better than any dream I ever had. I just wish I could have gotten you a better ring. I'll get you your own when I can."

"No way, Handsome. I like this ring. I don't want a new one, Derek." Sammie held her hand up a little so she could see the engagement ring on her ring finger, the tiny diamond glittering a little in the light from the bedside table.

"You deserve your own ring. But I really wanted to get you the house."

"Derek, stop." Sammie put a finger to his lips and smiled, tucking her head against his shoulder and closing her eyes. "I love my ring and I love the house. You didn't have to get the house, though. We would have been fine in an apartment."

"Nope. I want to bring this baby home to a house where he can grow up. Mark his height on the back of a door, handprints in the cement, all that stuff. I know the house looks bad now, but it'll be better when I'm done renovating it."

"Are you sure you'll be able to?"

"Are you doubting my construction skills?"

"No sir, Bob the Builder," she teased. "I'm doubting if you'll have time to finish everything that needs to be done to make that house livable before the baby's born."

"I'll be able to finish it. I talked to some friends from when I worked construction in college. A few of them offered to help."

"How much do we have to pay them?"

"They're doing it for free. They said it'd be a wedding gift."

"They're going to help fix up that house for free?"

"I tutored them for free back then. Helped them get their grades high enough to transfer out of the CCC system and into university. So they didn't have to work construction for the rest of their lives. I guess they're trying to pay the debt back or something. I offered to pay them, but they all said no."

"You have good friends," Sammie yawned and curled closer. Derek tightened his hold on her, protectively keeping his hand over her stomach. He kissed her forehead and pulled the down comforter up over them, settling down more comfortably in the bed and reaching over to pull the chain that turned off the bedside lamp.

"Goodnight, Baby," Derek kissed her once more, carefully, tenderly. He never tired of showing her how much he loved her and kissing her this way was his favorite. He loved kissing her. As much as he loved the heated, fervent kissing that came with moments of intense passion, he knew he would never get enough of slow, affectionate kissing like this.

"Night, Derek," she yawned again and tucked her head to his chest.

"I love you," he whispered long after she'd fallen asleep.

o o o o

"_A real lover is the man who can thrill you by kissing your forehead or smiling into your eyes or just staring into space." – Marilyn Monroe_

* * *

**A/N:**

**Yes, I'm heartbroken that we didn't win the Cup, but I'm so proud of my boys. I don't think I could be any prouder of them even if we had won. Kes had a labral tear in his hip and a torn groin. Someone told on him, because he'd never admit it. Hoff has something wrong with his shoulder. Higgy was playing with a broken foot since the Nashville series. Higgy needs surgery this off season, but Hoff said he doesn't. Edler has two broken fingers. 10 years of watching the twins have me convinced I'll never know what was wrong with Hank, not unless someone tells on him like they did on Kes. (edit: MG just tattled on Hank - he had a back injury from a crosscheck in the Nashville series.) These boys are my heros. I can't imagine playing through that kind of pain.**

**Apparently Hammer's having surgery soon to fix whatever's wrong with him. I heard he was having it today, but I know that's not true, because I just watched him give a live interview. lol! Sammy already had surgery and he should be good for next season. And MayRay, precious little Bambi, has a broken back. Compression fracture right through the core of his vertebrae. He flew home from Boston in a support corset for his back and showed up in Rogers Arena to wave and salute the crowd in the first period. I can't even imagine how much pain Bambi must have been in, but he did it anyways. Especially since there were a couple hours where they weren't even sure he'd ever walk again. I don't need a Stanley Cup. Going from Bambi never walking again to having him back in the lineup doing what he loves in 4-6 months is a big enough win for me. Even if we won the Cup, I'd still be more excited and happy about Bambi than Lord Stanley.**

**Anyways, congratulations to the Bruins. They outplayed us in the last game and that's when it counted. I'm proud of the fans in Rogers Arena who stayed and cheered respectfully for Thomas when he won the Conn Smythe and then cheered when Chara was presented the Cup and continued to clap and cheer as it was passed around the Bruins team. I laughed when they booed Bettman, because about 95% of the hockey world hates that little troll. They promptly stopped chanting "Bettman Sucks" as soon as the the Cup presentation started though. Disrespect to the Troll, but not to the team that earned the Lord Stanley.**

**I'm still not ready to forgive the Bruins fans in the arena for booing and jeering MayRay when he was motionless on the ice and then continuing when he was being carried off the ice by Kes and Higgy, but that's my prerogative and I guess I'll get to forgiveness eventually. It's my prerogative not to be ready to forgive a singular incident, just like it's fans of other teams to blindly hate my team and it's fans despite not knowing anything about them.**

**And onto the riots - That is NOT a representation of Vancouver, the Canucks or REAL Canucks fans. That handful of thugs and idiots went down there with supplies and PLANNED that riot, win or lose. The REAL Canucks fans are the 15,000 fans who stayed in Rogers Arena and applauded the Bruins, the REAL Canucks fans, real Vancouverites, are the 12,000 who went down the next day, some at the crack of dawn, and got downtown Vancouver completely clean in less that 18 hours despite the fact that they had nothing to do with the riot.**

**Right now I'm watching live player interviews and listening happily as my favourite players who happen to be UFA or RFA are saying they want to come back. PLEASE, MY BABIES, PLEASE! Come back! I've been a fan of the Canucks since the 98-99 seasons and this is the first year where I legitimately love every single one of the players and I'm going to be heartbroken if/when any of them leaves. **

**Okay. I'm out. Going to finish watching the interviews and then get ready to go to Houston with my Mum and my friend and see the Houston Ballet preform Taming the Shrew. I'm excited. Thanks SO MUCH for reading, I hope you love it and, please, tell me what you think - good or bad!**

**Love, Thalia**


	31. Chapter 31

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.**

* * *

"_Dreams are illustrations… from the book your soul is writing about you." – Marsha Norman_

o o o o

7 October 2001

Derek awoke to a small weight settling across his chest and gentle fingers patted his face. Small, annoying, unrelenting fingers. "Daddy!" The voice filling his ear was breathy and anxious, not quite realizing that whispers were supposed to be quiet.

"Daddy!" The small, pudgy hands were tugging softly on his hair and, opening one eye, Derek looked up into familiar eyes the same soft chocolate brown shade as his own.

"Ughh…"

Smashing their noses together, the little pudgy hands clamped over his mouth, "Shhh, Daddy! You'll wake up Mama!"

Snuggled next to him, Derek felt Sammie laugh silently at the rebuke from the child speaking no softer than he had. With laughter in his eyes, Derek pried the little digits away from his mouth.

"Daddy, it's morning! Can we go now? Can we, Daddy? Please, please, please, please, pleeease?"

Derek blinked a few times, trying to focus his still sleeping mind on the little girl pressing her face against his. "Go? Go where?"

"Daddy!" The child gasped, mortified. "You promised we would have Mama's birthday today! You promised, Daddy, you promised!"

Desperately trying not to laugh as the stricken whisper tickled his neck, Derek agreed, "Yes, I did… But it's only seven thirty, Pumpkin. Do we have to go this second?"

"Yes!" The small hands tangled in his fuzzy brown hair, trying to pull him from bed, but only succeeding in yanking a few strands out by the root. "Now, Daddy!"

Sammie shook against him, laughing silently, and, glancing at her, Derek saw her brown eyes open and full of amusement. "Now?" He asked again, provoking his disgruntled daughter.

"Now! Daddy, you promised!"

"It's a miracle anyone in Chicago is still asleep," Sammie sat up with a little trouble, leaning heavily on one elbow as she tried to maneuver so she could sit up without the painful pull her swollen stomach made on her back and smiled at the pair of them. "Morning, Ellie."

"Mama, morning!" Ellie sang, sitting up on Derek's chest. Daddy wasn't cooperating with her, but maybe Mama could make him behave. "Make Daddy keep his promise! He said we could go today!"

"Really now?" Sammie looked seriously at Derek, but her eyes were still laughing. "Well, Ellie, if Daddy promised, I suspect he will. Daddy always keeps his promises."

"Daddy always keeps his promises," Derek repeated, rumpling Ellie's crinkly brown hair. Sammie slowly and carefully pushed herself out of bed and scooped the little girl into her arms. Ellie pressed a sloppy kiss against her mothers' cheek, as she wrapped her arms snuggly around her neck.

"Time for breakfast, Ellie. What do you say to some blueberry-banana pancakes? I bet Daddy'll help you pick out the best blueberries."

"Boo-bana pancakes? Mama, my favorite!" Derek sat up and smiled at the way Ellie's eyes lit up and she called over her mothers' shoulders, "Daddy, hurry up! Mama has pancakes!"

Derek flopped back onto the bed and closed his eyes for a few more minutes. A loud crash as if a large pot had been dropped and Ellie's gleeful screeches pulled him from the warm bed to follow after his girls. Ellie was laughing happily, but when Derek stopped cold when he rounded the corner to the kitchen. Sammie lay sprawled across the floor and Ellie, his precious Ellie, was bouncing in the arms of Carl Buford.

Derek jerked up in bed, panting. Terrified, he glanced down next to him to see Sammie sound asleep on her side and her face half buried in her pillow. Her left leg was tangled with his and the fingers on her left hand were still loosely knotted with those on his left. She shifted, rolling from her right side to her left and pulling her hand from his.

Easing back down with his heart still racing, Derek curled onto his side and wrapped himself around her, tugging her close and burying his face in her neck. Sammie mumbled something in her sleep. Derek took a deep breath, trying to shove the end of the dream from his mind. Carl Buford wasn't going to get anywhere near his Sammie or his little Ellie.

"_Do you want to know the sex of your baby?" the gynecologist asked, watching the image on ultrasound machine shift as he moved the transducer over Sammie's stomach._

"_We can know the sex already?" Derek asked in surprise._

"_Eighteen to twenty-two weeks is the best window to see."_

"_I want to know," Sammie looked up at Derek, who nodded as well. The doctor kept pointing out body parts on the screen and Sammie did her best not to fidget in anticipation. _

"_Okay, we got this little guy…"_

"_Guy? It's a boy?" Sammie cut off the doctor before he could finish._

"_No," he laughed with a smile, "this little baby is definitely a girl."_

"_How 'definitely'?" Sammie squeezed Derek's hand. "'Definitely' like we could go buy her prom dress tomorrow or 'definitely' like we should probably paint the nursery yellow instead of pink just in case?"_

"_Well, I'd hold off on buying a prom dress at least until kindergarten, but go ahead and pick up some pink paint."_

"_We're having a girl?" Derek asked._

"_You're having a baby girl," the doctor nodded with a smile._

Derek's heart rate had calmed dramatically by the time he finished reliving the moment in the doctors' office two days ago. They had spent the past two days happily arguing over 'Elaine' or 'Elizabeth' and had somehow started calling her Ellie in between arguments. Derek loved every moment of it. He pressed a kiss to the back of her neck.

"Mmpfh," Sammie mumbled and pushed his hand off her stomach. "Stop."

"Stop what?" Derek whispered, unsure what exactly he had been doing in the first place.

"Waking me up," Sammie pulled the pillow down over her face. "I finally got to sleep and you wake me up."

"I'm sorry," he whispered apologetically. "I didn't mean to."

"Ugh, now I'm awake," Sammie sat up, letting the pillow she'd tried to block reality out with hit in him the head as she did. "I'm getting something to eat."

Derek watched Sammie push herself out of bed, her overly long pajama bottoms covering the tops of her feet and her short blonde hair sticking up in odd directions. Derek rolled onto his side and kept watching as she waddled out of the bedroom and down the hall. Groaning, he pushed himself up and followed after her.

"Baby, I'm sorry," he wrapped his arms around her waist to hug her as she pulled pickles and grape jelly from the refrigerator and put them next to the bread and peanut butter sitting on the counter. "I didn't mean to wake you up, Angel."

"Get off," she mumbled, shrugging him away. Sammie smeared peanut butter on one slice of bread and jam on the other, layering pickles over the peanut butter before closing the sandwich. Derek tried not to make a face as she took a bite. "You know how long it takes me to get to sleep now?"

"I know," Derek hung his head. "I'm sorry. I had a nightmare. I didn't mean to wake you up."

"About the bomb at UC?" Sammie took a huge bite of her sandwich, talking about the bomb that had exploded at the University of Chicago killing three students and a SWAT member.

"Uh, yeah," he nodded. He still hadn't told her about Carl Buford.

"You couldn't have done anything to save them," Sammie mumbled around a mouth full of peanut butter. "If you had been there, you wouldn't be here."

"I know."

"You know what else?"

"What?"

"You keep waking Ellie and I up and I'm going to send you on a hunt for papaya," Sammie finished the last bite of her sandwich and threw the paper towel in the trashcan.

"It's October, Sam."

"I know."

"Where am I supposed to find papaya?" Derek followed her back to their bedroom.

"Have fun in Mexico, Babe."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

9 October, 2001

Derek tugged the Kevlar vest off of Clooney before letting the dog jump into the back of the SWAT van. Derek climbed in after him and closed the two back doors as two other bomb techs climbed into the front seats and slammed the doors after them. Clooney plopped down on the ground and Derek bent down to scratch the top of his head.

"So were do you guys want to grab lunch today?" Jason asked as he started the van and began pulling out of the parking lot of the post office. A new hire at the post office panicked over what she thought was anthrax in a Hallmark card. What she'd felt inside the envelope had turned out to be a handful or so of glitter in a card reading "Happy 16th Birthday, Marla!" with lots of pink and purple hearts drawn all over it.

"That okay with you? Morgan?"

"Huh?" Derek looked up at his name.

"Jimmy John's for lunch."

"Yeah. Sounds good." It still amazing him how quickly Jason and Levi could turn off the thoughts about what they'd just finished, no matter how it had ended. He supposed he would gain the skill eventually, but so far the skill evaded him. Derek's mind still lingered on the anthrax-glitter as they left the sandwich shop and walked back towards the van parked in the corner of the strip centre's parking lot.

They were halfway across the lot when a greasy mop of black curls caught Derek's eye across the street and he stopped still. He followed the hair for a few seconds, trying to see the face, but he couldn't get a glance before the greasy curls disappeared completely from view.

"Derek!"

"Yeah, sorry, coming."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

Sammie followed her aunt Marsi up the walk to the small house. She still had trouble thinking of it as her house – hers and Derek's. And little whatever her name turned out to be. On the porch, she slipped the key into the lock and opened the door. A lot of work had already been done. The trash and debris had been cleared and taken away. Hardwood had replaced the torn up carpet, the pealing laminate in the bathrooms had been removed and tile installed. The small kitchen had been tiled in the leftover stone tiles from when Rodrigo and Viola had redone their kitchen that summer. The kitchen was not enterable at the moment, because the grout had yet to finish hardening and stepping on the tiles might shift them.

The entire house had been stripped of any and all wallpaper, the walls textured with plaster and ready for fresh paint, gallons of which were piled on a tarp in the living room. Soft pink for the nursery, a steel blue for their bedroom, and a rich yellow for the spare. The living room and dining room would both be painted a cheerful shade of goldenrod, a few shades darker than the yellow for the spare bedroom. The kitchen was her favourite, though – a creamy shade of pumpkin orange. The entire house was going to be warm and inviting when the paint was up, very unlike it had been with the creepy, pealing wallpaper covered in a floral pattern that seemed to move if you stared too long at the flowers.

Marsi left Sammie standing in the small entry way as she went through the house, surveying everything. "You're going to need a lot of curtains," she called from the spare room in the back of the house.

"I know. I want to wait until the paint is up and furniture in before making curtains, though, Aunt Marsi." Sammie followed after her.

"You'll want two sets of curtains for the nursery," Marsi said as she stepped into the soon to be pink bedroom.

"Why?"

"A thick set in the back to make sure the room stays dark when the baby's sleeping, and a thin set for the front that let some light through and look nice."

"I don't think they make pink black-out curtains," Sammie laughed, stopping abruptly when her aunt gave her a slightly disapproving look. "Sorry. Thick set, thin set. Got it."

"What are you going to use the spare room for?"

"I don't know yet," Sammie said honestly. "Probably just as office or something."

"When is the paint going up?" Marsi asked as she looked into the closet.

"Derek has tomorrow off, so we'll probably start tomorrow. The grout in the kitchen should be dry then too."

"You shouldn't be around paint fumes."

"All the paint's acrylic based. The doctor said it was okay as long as the windows are open and everything's aired out," Sammie shrugged her shoulders. "It'll be fine."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

Derek typed a name into the computer, hit 'search' and waited for the file to be drawn up from the database. When the file appeared, he scrolled down until he found the information he wanted. His jaw clenched and he hit the 'exit' button harder than necessary. Derek stood so fast that the heavy chair moved backwards a few inches. Storming across the station, he weaved his way through desks until he found Harold Grey.

"Why the hell is Nick Farese out of jail?"

o o o o

"_Fear is pain arising from the anticipation of evil." – Aristotle_

* * *

**A/N:**

**... hi.**

**I'm about to go see Cars 2.**

**bye.**

**LOVE, THALIA**

**P.S. I hope you like it, please don't kill me.**


	32. Chapter 32

** Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.**

* * *

"_Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the LORD your God goes before you; He will never leave you nor forsake you." – Deuteronomy 31:6 _

o o o o

9 October, 2001

"Why the hell in Nick Farese out of jail?"

Howard looked awkward, nervous and very, very old as he peered up at Derek from behind his wire-rimmed glasses. He mumbled something and Derek's rage boiled over.

"The prison was overcrowded? He tried to kill my wife! He's not up for parole until oh-seven!"

"He finished his anger management courses and has been a model prisoner," Howard's voice was tiny, almost like he was afraid to relay the information to Derek.

"I don't care! If the prison was overcrowded, let a kid who was racing go. Let a DUI go. Let someone who – You don't let a rapist go. You don't let an attempted murderer go! Why weren't we told he was up for parole?"

Howard didn't answer. Mostly because he didn't know the answer.

"He tried to kill my wife!" Derek's fists clenched at his sides. "If I'd know, I could have been at his hearing. I should have been at his hearing! I should have known."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

Derek didn't go straight home after he got off of work. He drove around for an hour or so, unsure what he was supposed to tell Sammie. How was he supposed to tell her that Nick was free? Finally, he pulled into the parking lot of their apartment complex and stopped in the spot next to Sammie's green Beetle. Clooney jumped out of the car when the door was opened and rushed ahead of Derek towards the apartment, running up the steps and waiting impatiently for Derek to catch up with him.

'I'm coming, I'm coming,' Derek muttered as he climbed the steps at a much slower pace than the dog. None of the lights were on in the windows. Sammie was already asleep. Derek was glad. He didn't want to talk right now; he had nothing to say. He didn't know what to say. He didn't know how to tell her.

Derek let Clooney go through the door first and heard the cat hiss in the darkness. Flipping on the light, Derek watched Crookshanks slid behind the emptied bookshelf. Clooney dropped into his bed without looking back as Derek put his belt on the hook, taking the magazine out of the gun and locking both away. He kicked off his shoes without untying the laces and walked towards the bedroom.

Stopping in the doorway, Derek let his eyes adjust to the darkness. Sammie's silhouette sharped as everything came into focus. She lay on her side, the covers pulled up around her chin. Derek crept as quietly as he could across the bedroom towards the tiny walk in closet. Dumping his clothes in the hamper, he pulled on a pair of Northwestern University sweatpants and an old t-shirt.

Very carefully, he eased into the bed next to Sammie, moving inch by inch as not to wake her. She shifted when he was finally settled, but only to move her legs and stretch. Derek reached out and brushed a chuck of hair away from her face. Her eyes fluttered briefly and Derek froze, but they stayed closed and she stayed still.

"I won't let anything happen to you," Derek whispered to himself more than her, kissing her forehead and closing his eyes. "I'll keep you two safe."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

10 October, 2001

Sammie watched as Derek used the side of a hammer to close the paint buckets. The sleeves of his White Sox shirt were shoved up onto his shoulders and she watched the muscles in his arms flex. Suddenly, she felt the baby flutter, just a tiny tickle like a butterfly. Pressing her hand over where she'd felt the movement, Sammie smile.

Derek stood and stretched his shoulders. It was mid-afternoon and they had finished the first coat of paint in all the rooms. His shoulders and back ached, but they were halfway through the painting work, so it would pay off in the end. Derek turned to see Sammie watching him. "What?"

"Nothing," she smiled, shaking her head, "Just happy."

"C'mon, Baby Girl. Let's go get something to eat," Derek slung an arm around her shoulders. By the time they got home from Five Guys Burger and Fries an hour and a half later, the first room they'd painted was ready for the second coat of paint. Derek kissed Sammie before squatting down to pry open the can of yellow paint for the spare bedroom.

The yellow looked nice and sunny even with only one layer of paint, overall a huge improvement over the Rorschach wallpaper that had previously been in this room. They made it all the way through the house a second time, working well past the sunset before they finally stopped. Derek closed the paint cans against. Sammie was so tired she could barely keep her eyes open.

"C'mon, Angel,' Derek bent down and kissed the top of her head where she sat in the plastic lawn chair in the centre of the living room. "Let's go home and get you to sleep."

By the time their day ended, and both were in bed – Sammie asleep and Derek staring at the ceiling – Derek had still not told her about Nick.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

14 October, 2001

"My shift starts at midnight, so I'll be gone when you get home," Derek watched as she stuffed sheet music, spare reeds and a tuner into her canvas bag. She looked pretty, dressed in black slacks and a black blouse with her hair pulled back by a headband.

"Okay," she nodded, surveying everything to make sure she hadn't forgotten anything. "The concert ends at eleven and Keira and I will probably go get some coffee or something."

"I'm glad that she could come see you play. Doesn't she have class tomorrow though? Tomorrow's a Monday."

"Not until two in the afternoon," Sammie shook her head and bent down to pick up her clarinet. "Bomb squad tonight or just regular patrol?"

"Regular patrol," he kissed her.

"Good. I worry less when you're not on bomb squad."

"I know, Baby Girl. But nothing's going to happen to me," Derek wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her in until she relaxed and leaned against him. Sammie nodded and slipped from his arms. Derek followed her into the kitchen and watched her take a water bottle from the fridge. She moved slower now, taking her time with her movements. Smiling, he let her pass him and followed her to the door.

"Be safe," she said as she slung her music bag more securely over her shoulder.

"I will, Babe," Derek kissed her, resting his hand on her stomach. He felt a bump against his palm and he pulled his hand away, startled. Sammie smiled at him, taking his hand and placing it back where the kick had been felt. "Is that…?"

Sammie nodded as there was another flutter, this time so light Derek could barely feel it. "Hey Ellie," Derek whispered, completely in awe. "Hey, little girl."

Not taking his hands from her stomach, Derek kissed her again. Closing his eyes, he rested his cheek on the top of her head. Derek took a deep breath of her shampoo. "I love you, Sammie Girl."

"I love you too, Superman," Sammie kissed him and pulled away. "I have to go or I'm going to be late."

"Be safe," Derek repeated her sentiment as she squeezed his hand.

"Right. Because the symphony's so dangerous," Sammie quipped with a smile. "I might get taken out my a rogue trombone."

"Don't joke," Derek teased, gesturing at a photograph of her from two summers ago with a dark bruise in the shape of a trombone slide on the side of her face. "It's happened."

Sammie started laughing. "Okay. I really am leaving now. Goodbye, Derek Morgan. I'll see you when you get home."

"Bye, Samantha Morgan. Play pretty."

Derek watched from the window as her green Volkswagen pulled out of the parking lot and into the street. Crookshanks brushed himself against his leg and Derek bent down to punk up the ginger tabby cat. He scratched the cat between the eyes and Crookshanks purred happily, but the attention he gave the cat only drew Clooney over for his own share of Derek's attention.

"You two are ridiculous," Derek shook his head. Putting the cat back down, he set to work on packing up more of the apartment, tackling the photographs on the walls and counters first. He'd wrapped every frame in plain newspaper by the time there was a knock on the door and Derek heard it open. The first inane thought that popped into his head was that it was Nick, but James was closing the door when he rounded the corner.

"Hey," James smiled at him. Their relationship was still strained, James was still far from fully forgiving Derek for getting Sammie pregnant and marrying her, but progress was being made. Maybe everything would be all right by Christmas. "Thought you might want some help."

"Appreciate it," Derek nodded, returning the smile. "We're almost done, but there's still a little left."

"Jeeze, what _isn't_ in boxes?" James looked around the living room. Labeled boxes lined the walls, full of books, knickknacks, kitchen supplies, clothing and more.

"Pictures. I'm working on them now. The last of the clothes and linens. And Sam's music stuff. Saving that for last. Hopefully we'll be out of here by Wednesday."

"Don't tape the box shut," James warned him. "Sam's music stuff. As soon as you do, she'll shout that she put her metronome in there or something. Or needs some random, ancient warm-up book that's so faded and marked-up she can't read it anymore."

"That's for the tip. What's in the bag?"

"Chinese, for later," James held up the large paper bag.

"How much do you with we'll be able to eat?" Derek laughed.

"I dunno about you, by I'm still eighteen. This is a snack." James carried the bag into the kitchen and stuck it in the fridge. "We lost yesterday's game by a point. I'm planning on eating my feelings out about it later."

Laughing, the two starting talking about the University of Illinois verse Northwestern University game coming up as they started packing the remaining photographs into boxes. Derek had gotten them rather good tickets since he'd been on the team before he injured himself his sophomore year. Alumni athletes got a good deal on the tickets.

"Buuuuurrrghhhh…" James emitted the strange sound as he taped the last box of pictures closed. Derek looked at him with his eyebrows raised. "What? Just imitating a humpback whale," James explained like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The brothers dissolved into laughter as they headed into the kitchen. Pulling the greasy bag of Chinese food out of the fridge, they each filled a paper plate – fortified by two additional plates just in case – and stuck them in the microwave. Derek's plate wasn't exactly barren, but James' plate was a mountain of food that any normal person would find impossible to consume. However, James finished it all and even went back for seconds.

"I just took out the Ming dynasty," James groaned as he leaned back with his hand over his stomach. "It was beautiful."

"It was something," Derek agreed.

"I shouldn't have eaten that much."

"No one should eat that much."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

15 October, 2001

Derek grinned at Mark Doone as they walked into the coffee shop. The shop was a favourite of the local police officers, as a former cop, Coran Hindreth, and his wife Aly owned it. They enjoyed having the police dogs come in and always had a few Milkbones for them. Clooney trotted ahead, straight for the counter where Aly Hindreth waited with a treat for him.

"Hey, Miss Aly," Derek and Mark greeted the older woman as she bent down and scratched Clooney behind the ear.

"Help yourselves, boys. Fresh pot on the counter," Miss Aly tucked some grey hair behind her ear and gestured at the pot. "Just getting off or just getting on?"

"Been on for about an hour and a half," Mark told her, checking his watch. "Just need to stop and get some coffee."

"Help yourselves," Aly gestured at the pot again as Derek poured steaming liquid into two to-go cups. "How's your wife doing, Derek?"

"Sam's doing great," Derek smiled, thinking of Ellie kicking his palm earlier. "She has a concert tonight. Had. She's probably home by now."

"And Ellie?" Aly smiled. "Is she Elaine or Elizabeth? Or are you two still fighting over that?"

"Just Ellie for now. We're still trying to decide between the two full names. She's getting bigger. You can feel her kicking now."

Aly looked thrilled. "How about you, Mark? How's Andrea?"

"She's doing well. Kevin decided to join peewee football and she's the team mom. Rose has her first ballet recital on Friday. She's very excited to be the second spider on the–"

A crash cut off Mark at the end of his sentence and both he and Derek turned towards the door. Clooney stood still and ready, his head turned to Derek for instruction. Gunshots went off, once, twice, three times, and the two left their coffee on the counter.

Clooney jumped into the patrol car when Derek opened the door and, as soon as Derek was in the car, they took off in the direction of the noise. Derek spoke into the radio as Mark drove. "I can see two cars. One truck. Lifted. And a green Volks…wagen…" Derek's voice trailed off when he saw the IUCU College of Music sticker stuck to the back window. The Christian fish on the bumper took his breath from his lungs.

"Officer Morgan?" The voice over the radio cracked with static.

"Doone, tha-that's Sam's car."

Mark speed up and then slammed on the breaks a few yards from the wreck. The door on the passenger side was open and the truck was smashed into the front driver's side. Smoke billow out from both cars.

"Sammie!" Derek shouted as he ran from the patrol car to the wreckage. Clooney barked from the backseat as Mark ran after Derek with his gun drawn. Derek got there first and shattered glass crunched beneath his boots. "Sammie!"

The passenger seat was vacant with a blood trail leading away from the crash. Keira was pinned in the driver's seat with her head lulled forward and she bled from the temple. The worst damage came in the form of two gunshot wounds in the left side of her abdomen.

Derek tried to open the driver's side door, but it wouldn't budge. He got to the passenger's side as quickly as he could and climbed inside, immediately pressing a hand against the wounds to try and contain the bleeding.

"Keira? Keira, can you hear me? Keira, c'mon," Derek begged and the girl's green eyes flashed at him slowly. "There's a girl. Hold on, Keira. Just hold on. The ambulance is coming. You're gonna be okay, Keira. Just stay with me, Keira. C'mon."

"He has her," Keira coughed faintly, blood coming from her mouth as she tried to speak.

"It's okay, Keira," Derek shook his head. "Just keep still. Breath even, okay, Keira?"

"He has her," she coughed again. "H-h-he was waiting and he hit us and – and took her."

"It's okay, Keira. No, no, no, Keira, don't you close your eyes on me. Come on, Keira, fight. Stay with me," Derek squeezed her hand as she started coughing harder, blood seeping out faster as her lungs convulsed.

"Tell my mama…" Keira tried, but couldn't finish.

"No, Keira. You're getting out of here. You'll tell her. C'mon, don't leave me, Keira. Stay here. You're gonna be okay. You're gonna be fine, Keira."

"Mama and Daddy…" Keira never finished her thought.

A thin trickle of blood dripped from her left nostril and her head tilted down, her entire body going limp. Blood kept pouring from her abdomen over his hand. "No! No, no, no! Keira, no. C'mon, Keira." All Derek could think to say was 'no' over and over, but the girl was gone. As the ambulance wailed up, Derek wiped his cleanest hand on his pants before reaching up to close her eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Keira."

Derek moved out of the way on autopilot for the medics. He muttered that she was dead and watched for a second as they pulled out the Jaws of Life so they could pry open the car door to retrieve her body.

"He has Sammie," he told Mark quietly as he opened the door to let Clooney out as three more squad cars pulled up onto the scene. A crowd was growing to gawk at the entire event like it was a soap opera on daytime television. He hooked Clooney's leash onto his collar. "Farese has her."

o o o o

"_The little flickering part of his brain that was still sparking coherent thought through the fog of mind-numbing terror that filled Colon's head was telling him that he was so far out of his depth that the fish had lights on their noses." – Terry Pratchett_

* * *

**A/N:**

**I really don't know what to say. I'm literally that tired. I have no idea what to say in this author's note.**

**My friends and I all got into Pottermore on the first day. I'm very, very excited. I hope I'm in Hufflepuff. Yesterday, one of those besties, Ren, and I watched "Profiler, Profiled" together while we were on Skype. That was fun. XD **

**I'm working on an HP fic with another one of those besties, Peri. It's amazing and it won't leave me alone. Seriously, I'm about ready to punch it in the face. Apple needs to make an app for that. **

**Anyways, there was just this character in HBP and D1&2 that I thought was just an unnamed extra. And, funnily enough, she looked exactly how I imaged a character I'd created named Gráinne. And it was so awesome because she's always with Seamus and Dean in scenes, who are Gráinne's posse and (me being me, of course) I've been freaking out about it going "WFIUWEFNWE THIS IS AWESOME! Gráinne's real! Gráinne's real! I'm such a bad-ass!" (sing-song voice of course). Then I realized that the character wasn't an unnamed extra. She was the new Katie Bell. They switched actors. I didn't make the connection because in the first two movies, Katie has kinda sandy blonde hair AND she's a year about the Golden Trio. She wasn't in the middle three. And in the last three movies, she has dark brown hair and is suddenly in the same year as they are (apparently she is also the youngest chaser in a century? or she was held back a year? lololololol). So I didn't make the connection because I always thought of Katie as blonde and she had no business being in their 6th-year potions class or in a Hogwarts uniform during the Battle of Hogwarts. So now I was all depressed. :( And then I decided :Screw this crap. She's Gráinne in my mind!"**

**THIS IS WHY THEY CAN'T SWTICH ACTORS. ESPECIALLY NOT FOR ONES THAT LOOK NOTHING ALIKE. Because crazy people like me give them other names and personalities and don't realize they're supposed to be the same character. But seriously - who's idea was it to have Lavender Brown be played by a black actress in the first couple movies and then randomly switch her to a curly-haired white girl? IT WAS NOTICEABLE, CASTING DIRECTOR. I highly doubt Lavender pulled a MJ between her fifth and sixth year.**

**ooo**

**STOOOOOOOO~RY TIME. I posted this on facebook, but I figured my non-facebook friends would still get a kick out of it. I don't think it's as awesome without the hyperlinks, but whatever. It's still good.**

**An Entertaining (and unfortunately true) Tale of Thal's Herp-Derp Magic**

**So... I've always really loved Dan Hamhuis, right? Okay. I even followed him when he was playing for the Nashville Predators. The picture of him and Shea Weber as Pooh and Tiggerwas on my bulletin board. His hip check's are art. Last summer, I was at traveling up to school on the 1st to pay my rent because I'd gone home for the summer. And when I got up there and into my apartment and turned on my comp, I saw that our General Manager, Mike Gillis, had signed Dan.**

**I started shouting like we'd just won the Cup and spazzy-dancing around in my sweats. I dance like a cross between Ryan Kesler, Bill Cosby and Carlton Banks. I knocked over a box of books because I'm a klutz. And because I dance like a cross between Ryan Kesler, Bill Cosby and Carton Banks. Then I tripped over it. I had a bruise on my thigh the size of an awkwardly shaped softball from landing on my Norton Anthology of American Literature.**

**I popped back up and continued my spazzy celebration dance. There was no music because I'd just gotten there. So I was just dancing like a maniac to silence. I finally calmed down enough to sit back in my chair and read beyond the headline.**

**Which was when I saw that we also signed Manny Malhotra. I hadn't followed him the way I followed Dan, but I knew enough about him to know how amazing he is on and off the ice. So I freaked out and started dancing again. I slipped on my flip-flop, hit my chin on the table, and bit the inside of my lip open.**

**Moral of the Story? Thal has more Herp than Mason Raymond has Derp and should never do her spazzy celebration dance ever again.**

**If you've read this all the way to the end, you are far more dedicated than I. I LOVE YOUUUU. I hope you enjoyed it and, please, tell me what you think - good or bad!**

**Love, Thalia**


	33. Chapter 33

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.**

* * *

"_Fear defeats more people than any other one thing in the world." – Ralph Waldo Emerson_

o o o o

15 October, 2001

Derek tugged on the bulletproof vest and strapped the Velcro into place. He needed to move. He needed to do something. He needed to find her. He needed to find her and get her to the hospital and then take her home. He needed to track down Nick Farese and kill him.

Nick Farese needed to die. And Derek wanted to be the one to do it.

"We have to hurry up," Derek muttered to Mark. "He's got my wife."

Mark nodded to him as he finished filing a B.O.L.O. for Sammie. "Short, blonde hair, brown eyes, pregnant. Five months, I think?" Mark looked to Derek, who nodded. "Yeah. Five months. She's got a scar beneath her right eye. Maybe twenty minutes ago. Samantha Morgan. His name's Nick Farese. He's on parole – only released a week ago. He just killed twenty-year-old Keira Young. Okay. Do that."

Hanging up, Mark strapped on his own Kevlar vest. "They're taking the picture from your desk. They're going to get her face everywhere. Ramirez and Cole are going over to notify the Youngs."

"My in-laws," Derek mumbled almost absently as he watched the medics lay Keira in a body bag. "Someone needs to go to Andria before she sees it on the news."

"Gove and Benson are on their way," Mark nodded again. "C'mon. Let's go find Sam."

He and Mark took three other officers with them, as well as Clooney leading the way, and followed the blood trail away from the cars until it disappeared. Splitting into three groups, they spread through the back alleys trying to find her.

The search continued for over an hour and Derek's panic grew with each passing second. His cell phone and been ringing incessantly for the past forty-five minutes, but Derek never made a move to answer it. The only news he wanted – _needed_ – to hear would be coming from the walkie-talkie on his belt, not the cell phone in his pocket. He didn't have time to waste fielding calls to repeat that, yes, Sammie was missing.

"Sammie!" Derek shouted her name again to no reply. He could hear other people shouting her name as well.

"Samantha?"

"Samantha Morgan!"

"Sammie!"

Derek shouted again and again until his voice was hoarse. Then his radio crackled to life.

_ "Samantha Morgan's on-root to Northwestern Memorial Hospital. A homeless man found her in an alley off of South Houston Avenue in Ward Ten."_

"How the hell'd she get over there? That's twenty miles away," Derek spoke to himself as he yanked the device off of his belt. "This is Morgan. I'm on my way."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

Derek burst in through the front door of Northwestern Memorial Hospital and went straight to the front desk. "I'm Derek Morgan. My wife, Samantha Morgan was just brought in."

"Name?" the woman behind the desk sounded bored.

"Derek Morgan," he repeated through gritted teeth. "Bomb squad agent Derek Morgan. I'm looking for my wife, Samantha Morgan. She was just brought in."

The addition of his title got the woman to look up and she scrolled through something on the computer. "She's in surgery on the fourth floor. Neurology."

"Neurology? Neurology like her _brain_?" Derek felt like falling over. "What's wrong with her? Why does she need surgery? Why is she in neurology?"

"I don't know, sir." She shook her head. "It doesn't say any of that. It just says where she is. They'll be able to tell you more up on the fourth floor. The elevators are right there. Take them up to the fourth floor and take a left. There's a big sign. You can't miss it."

Derek nodded curtly and practically ran towards the elevators. He managed to catch one just as it was closing. The elevator stopped on each floor and Derek felt like jumping out of his skin. By the time the doors opened on the fourth floor, Derek was ready to pass out from anxiety right in the middle of the elevator.

His phone started buzzing again, but he ignored the annoying device. The information desk was vacant. His angel was somewhere in this hospital, on his floor, apparently having surgery on her brain, and the front desk was empty.

Part of him wanted to shout for someone, but a larger part of his realized that shouting on a floor where brain surgery took place was an inherently bad idea. He tried to get the attention of a nurse as she hurried past him, staring down at the clipboard in her hands, but she ignored him. Derek finally managed to get the third nurse to pass him by actually grabbing the man's arm.

"Can I help you, officer?"

"My wife, Samantha Morgan," Derek started, "my wife Sam was brought here. I was told her was on this floor."

Derek followed the nurse to the front Derek and waited while the man riffled through files, until he handed Derek a few of them along with a pen. "I need you to fill out these insurance and medical forms, please."

"I don't want to fill out paperwork!" Derek nearly lost it. "I want to know why the hell my wife is up in Neurology! I want to know what's going on with my wife!"

"I understand, sir," he nodded, "but we really need this information."

"And I really need to know how my wife is," Derek returned. "What's your name?"

"Kyle."

"Are you married, Kyle?"

"Yes, I am," Kyle nodded.

"Have any kids?"

"A son," the answer was hesitant.

"My wife is pregnant. She's five months pregnant with our first daughter, Ellie. She's in there somewhere – they both are – and I need to know if they're okay." Derek glanced towards the double swinging door as an orderly wheeled a bed through them. It wasn't Sammie. "What if it was your wife and son somewhere in here and you didn't know what was going on with them?"

Kyle tapped the forms. "You fill these forms out and I'll go find out what I can."

"Thank you," Derek nodded. Kyle disappeared behind the double doors and Derek pulled his vibrating phone from his pocket. Andria's name glowed on the screen. "Hi, Mom."

_"What's going on, Derek?" Andria was on the verge of being hysterical._

"I don't know a hundred percent," Derek admitted. "I think she's in surgery for something, but no one's told me what. I'm at the hospital right now. Filling out insurance forms. A nurse is trying to find out for me. Keira's gone, Mom. Nick killed her."

Derek was too shaken himself to soften the blow to his mother-in-law and she started crying. He filled in all the questions he knew the answers to, but had to ask Andria the answers to some – like what Sammie's blood type was.

"Mom, I'll call you back," Derek cut her off midsentence as Kyle returned.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

Derek had never been more exhausted yet more wide-awake than he was right this moment. It had been three hours since he had gotten to the hospital and there was still no concrete news on how Sammie was doing. The waiting room was filled with their family, all waiting as anxiously as he was.

Fran and Sarah had been the first to arrive at the hospital and Derek had hugged his mother like he was a child needing her to chase away the monsters from his closet. He had broken down and cried, but Fran just wrapped her arms around him and whispered that everything would be all right. Sammie would be fine. Now, Derek sat between James and Fran and staring at his shoes, just trying to remember to breath first in and then back out again, neither of which came easily.

"Samantha Morgan?" A scrubbed doctor walked into the room looking down at a file. The entire waiting room stood. "Uh, Derek Morgan?"

"Me," Derek stepped forward, studying the blood covering the doctor's front. "Sam's my wife. Is she all right? Where is she?"

"She's still in surgery," he shook his head. "We had to preform an emergency cesarean section. We tried to wait as long as we could, tried to avoid removing the child from her mother because she's still so young, but it was too dangerous for the baby to remain."

"Is she okay?" Derek gripped his mother's hand tightly when she came up beside him. "Is Ellie okay? Can I see her?"

"She's being taken care of in the NICU. What did you say her name was?"

"Elaine," Derek gave the name Sammie wanted. "Her name's Elaine Madison Morgan."

The doctor scribbled the name down on his chart and held it out for Derek. "Spelled like this?"

"Yes," Derek glanced at it. "Can I see her? She's in the NICU, is she okay? Is it just because she's small?"

"Your daughter has only reached twenty-weeks gestation, Mr. Morgan. She's only ten ounces," the doctor looked up at him. "To be frank, her chances are very slim. Her lungs aren't fully formed yet. They're getting her on a ventilator and doing everything they can to help her, but she needed more time inside her mother."

"Why was she taken out, then?" Derek asked, his breathing quickening and her ran a hand over the back of his head. "If she needed more time, why did you take her out? Sammie would… Sammie's not… oh my God. Sammie – she's, Sammie's not–"

"She's still in surgery. We're doing everything we can for her. It – it doesn't look good."

Derek didn't respond. He could barely breath. Turning, he strode out of the waiting room, ignoring the people calling his name.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

_"I can't relax. I have to tell my family that I'm twenty-one, unmarried and pregnant."_

Derek leaned his head against the brick wall and closed his eyes against the tears in his eyes.

_ "I, Samantha, take you, Derek, to be my husband. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honour you all the days of my life."_

Derek saw Sammie's brown eyes staring into his, fully of nerves and a small amount of uncertainty, but laced with trust.

_"Elaine Morgan. I love it. It's beautiful. I'd always liked Madison, but Madison Morgan sounds silly. Elaine Morgan. I like it a lot."_

Derek dragged his arm across his eyes. His little baby. The precious little one he'd felt kicking his hand not twelve hours ago had a 'slim chance.' And his Sammie, his beautiful wife was – he didn't know what his beautiful wife was. He didn't even fully know what had happened to her.

_"It doesn't look good."_

Derek took a shaky breath and tried to force the doctor's words out of his mind. Though, it would probably be easier for him to change his skin colour than to erase those four words from his heart.

"Derek? Thank God, here you are," Rodrigo sighed and walked towards him. "We've been looking for you for an hour."

"I couldn't breath in there. Is she?"

"She's in recovery right now."

A full breath filled Derek's lungs for the first time that morning.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

He couldn't go in. He couldn't step in the room. He had never felt this sort of absolute, paralyzing fear before. He could see her, sort of. He knew it was her in the bed, but he couldn't see her face. A blood transfusion was happening in one arm, while the other was hooked up to two IVs with clear liquid. All he could hear was the sound of a heart monitor beeping in time to the ventilators sucking air into her chest.

Derek took the first step into the room and continued, one horrible step at a time, until he could see Sammie. It wasn't her. That wasn't his Sammie lying there, propped up in the bed. No. No, no, just no. That couldn't be his Sammie. And he might have been ready to tell the doctors that, that they had put the wrong name on this room because there was no way this was his Sammie, if it weren't for the all-too-familiar scar across her right cheek.

The left half of her face was destroyed.

The right was bruised, and scraped, and battered, but the left had been obliterated.

Derek pulled the chair up close to her bed and sat down on the right side of the bed, taking her scraped up hand into his. Carefully as to not disturb any of the IVs taped into her arm, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. The ventilator swished steadily.

"Officer Morgan?" An older doctor walked into the room with Andria and James beside him. "I'm Dr. LeBlanc."

"Yes," Derek didn't stand. He didn't even look away from Sammie. "How is she?"

"The next few hours are very critical," Dr. LeBlanc told him.

"Good chance or bad chance?" Derek asked directly, not bothering with comforting euphemisms. It took LeBlanc a moment to answer.

"Bad," he said with a sigh. "We've done everything we can do for her, but the damage to her brain is severe."

Derek still didn't look up from Sammie. "What happened?"

"The right side of her skull has been crushed into her brain. Her frontal lobe. We had to remove the shattered bone. It wasn't repairable and–"

"What's going to protect her brain later?" Derek finally looked at the doctor.

The doctor didn't answer, but the expression on his face told Derek that he didn't think her brain would need protecting much longer. "There are prosthetics that can be implanted where the skull used to be."

Derek kissed Sammie's hand again.

"Is the ventilator a precaution or is it necessary?"

"She's not breathing on her own. The ventilator is physically pumping the air into her lungs."

"And her face?"

"We were afraid to do anything to try and repair the damage because she'd been through so much surgery already. Except for her eye, the damage to her face is cosmetic, while the damage to her brain and the child was not. We were afraid to put too much strain on her brain at one moment in time."

Derek nodded and listened as Dr. LeBlanc kept speaking, never taking his eyes off of Sammie, except to look at the drawn profile of a head that Dr. LeBlanc showed him with red ink marking where the surgery had been preformed. He wasn't sure how long Dr. LeBlanc kept talking, because halfway through the words just became garbled noises passing between his ears.

"I remember when you got back from Vanguard, you kept saying you didn't realize how sad you'd be that you'd never get to shave your head again," Derek whispered against her fingers as Andria and Dr. LeBlanc walked outside talking. James sat in a chair in the far corner, his knees up to his chest and his blue eyes bloodshot. "You have an excuse now, Baby Girl. You… when you wake up, you can see if you want to shave your head again or wait for the rest of the hair to grow out. You're going to have a pretty big scar, but… it's going to be the last scar he ever leaves on you. I'm going to get him, Angel. I promise you. No matter how long it takes, I'm going to get him."

Andria returned to sit sat next to him and squeezed his hand.

"Hey, Mama," Derek hugged her shoulders.

"Elaine's alive," she told him. "They have her set up in the NICU."

"Is… is…" Derek couldn't get the words out. He was too afraid of the answer to ask the question.

"They don't know yet. The doctor said she's in critical condition still. He… he's very worried," Andria scrubbed at her eyes. "Fran's down with Elaine. Do you want to go see her?"

"Yes," he admitted, "but I can't leave Sam. I can't leave her alone."

"She won't be alone. I'll be with her."

Derek looked torn. He desperately wanted to see his daughter, but his heart lay in the bed in front of him, barely holding onto life. What if she opened her eyes for a split second and he wasn't there?

"I can't leave Sam."

"Derek, go see your baby," Andria patted his hand. "I want to talk to mine."

o o o o

"_We gain strength, and courage, and confidence by each experience in which we really stop to look fear in the face… we must do that which we think we cannot." – Eleanor Roosevelt_

* * *

**A/N:**

**I. Am. Dead. Writing this chapter killed me. I couldn't even write it all the way though. I had to stop and write some happy Seamus-Gráinne fluff to recover before I could write more of this chapter. My heart is still breaking over it. Legitimately crying.**

**Two of the servicemen I write to have returned home safely this summer! YAY! So happy about that. But that only left me with one precious boy, so I just got another yesterday. Unfortunately, every single dang time I start writing to a new serviceman, I forget how I introduced myself and started writing to the last one. I need to save copies of my intro letters, because this is ridiculously awkward. I've already made one terrible flight attendant joke. As well as one about _Leave it to Beaver_. And retirement homes. deergawd, wutamidoing? I need someone to save me from myself. I cannot send this letter. It's too ridiculous. This Marine would just stare at it going, 'This chick is certifiably insane.'**

******I have proof that Matt Lewis is the perfect man for me. Matt tweeted a picture of himself wearing a fireproof blanket as a cape with the caption _"I am wearing a fire blanket. In case of spontaneous combustion; which is, I'm warned, a seldom reported phenomenon."_ This is when I realized he was the perfect human being. And perfect for me. Because, see, ages ago, my best friend Wifeypoo and I dressed up wearing my dad's ugly tea cozies from the 70's for hats, bathing suit skirts over our shorts, and plastic newspaper sleeves for scarfs. She wore my heels, which were an inch too short, because I have tiny feet and she does not. I don't know why we did it. We just did. Yes, she is my soulmate. No, there is nothing wrong with us. And, yes, we would probably do this again today.**

**It was my birthday on Sunday. We went into Houston with my family and Brutus for Jew Food at Kenny and Ziggy's. I love being half-half. I get the best of everything. Anyways, if you ever go to Houston, you must go to Kenny and Ziggy's. It's heaven in food form. They're knishes are just a;ewofamewiupnq;ewanfjad. There are no words accurate to describe them.**

**In other news~ BRUTUS IS HOME. And Squishie is coming home on Saturday! I am legit the happiest girl ever. Also, the day Brutus came home, he texted me saying it was 104 at the airport. And I responded with 'Well, it's only 100 here.' And then I stopped. I can't believe that I used the phrase 'Well, it's only 100 here' and genuinely meant it. Brutus still hasn't stopped teasing me about it. But seriously, I love Texas summer. It's been 100+ every day for the past three weeks and I'm looooooo~ooooving it.**

**Okay, I was going to tell you about my Harry Potter marathon obsession that I've been on lately, but I'll spare you. Plus, I have a final tomorrow. So thanks for reading! I love you all! And, please, tell me what you think - good or bad!**

**Love, Thalia**


	34. Chapter 34

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.**

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"_Fear is a disease that eats away at logic and makes man inhuman." – Marian Anderson_

o o o o

15 October, 2001

Derek stared through the glass into the neonatal intensive care unit and watched as three nurses and a doctor fluttered around his daughter. Fran squeezed his hand and Derek squeezed back. Desiree wrapped her arms around Derek's left arm and rested her head against his upper arm. Sarah stood on the other side of Desiree. None of them looked away from the baby.

Nervously, Derek watched as a doctor shook his head and slowly turned to walk towards where he knew they were watching. "I'm sorry, Officer Morgan."

"Is she…?"

"No, not yet. But her heart's failing even with the life support. Her lungs aren't holding the air and…" the dark haired doctor trailed off tiredly as Desiree started crying.

"How long?" Derek asked.

"Half an hour. Maybe an hour."

"And if we take her off of life support?"

"Twenty minutes to half an hour. Maybe forty-five minutes," he ran a hand over his head. "At this point, a lot of parents prefer to remove their children from life support and just – just take some time to say goodbye to them without any machines in the way."

Derek nodded. "Alright. I have to sign paperwork, don't I?"

The doctor looked around to see if anyone was close before saying that if Derek signed the last page, they could finish the rest of the paperwork later. Derek nodded thankfully and it was only a few minutes before tiny Ellie was unhooked from all the machines. A nurse wrapped Ellie in a soft pink blanket and walked towards them. Derek backed away when the nurse tried to hand him Ellie.

"I… I can't. I might hurt her," Derek shook his head.

"Derek," Fran put a hand on his shoulder.

"She's so small and fragile," Derek looked torn. He wanted so badly to hold his daughter, but the idea of hurting her terrified him. "I'm not Sam, Mom, I'm not gentle enough. I might hurt her."

"You're her father, Derek," Fran assured him. "You won't hurt her, Baby Boy."

"Mom…"

Fran reached out and took Ellie from the nurse, cradling her tiny granddaughter close as she walked to one of the rocking chairs. "Hey there, my precious baby girl. I love you, Angel. Grandma loves you so much."

Derek watched over her shoulder, standing right next to Fran's rocking chair. All of Ellie that was visible was her face. Her eyes were closed and her thin skin was a soft caramel colour, a few shades lighter than Derek.

"Oh, little girl, I would give anything," Fran whispered, kissing Ellie's hat, "anything to change this. You are so loved, Ellie."

"Der," Sarah squeezed his hand, looking from her niece to her brother. "You should hold her."

"I can't," Derek was shaking, trying not to cry or let the tears in his eyes fall. "What if I hurt her?"

"You won't," Desiree parroted their mother's reassurance.

Ellie's eyes silted open and dark brown eyes found his immediately. Derek covered his face as the tears fell and Desiree wrapped her arms around her older brother. Fran traced her finger carefully over Ellie's cheek.

"I love you, Ellie," Fran smiled against her own tears. "I love you so much, little angel."

Derek reached out and carefully touched Ellie's cheek. Ellie turned her face towards her father's fingers. "H-hi, Ellie," his voice was trembled.

"That's your daddy," Fran told the infant in her arms. "He is so in love with you, angel. And your mommy is so brave. They love you so much. Elaine Morgan, you are just too good for this world, aren't you?"

Ellie closed her eyes and her laboured breathing stopped not too much time later. Fran started crying hard, still carefully holding her granddaughter. Derek sat down in a chair with his head in his hands and sobbed.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

"Fight, Samantha," she whispered. Andria leaned down to kiss her daughter's hand. "I know, _dolcezza_. I know. You are so tired of fighting. But don't you give up now. You've always been a fighter, Samantha. You are a fighter to the core. You fought when I didn't. No time to give up now, Samantha."

Andria ran her thumb over Sammie's scrapped fingers, avoiding the IVs in her left hand and trying not to jostle the arm set with a cast. She hadn't been able to protect her from her father. She had been too scared, too swallowed by her own crippling depression. By the time Andria had been emotionally able to try and protect her children, they had both cut themselves off from her. They had refused to believe her when she said she would take care of them. She hadn't been able to protect Sammie from Nick – Sammie had refused to leave her boyfriend, sneaking off to see him when Andria had forbidden her to see him. It hadn't been until Derek that Sammie accepted help, that Sammie had trusted anyone.

Andria let her thumb rest over the slight dent already forming from her wedding ring. Derek was good for Sammie in so many ways. He took care of her, he helped her open, helped her find the person she'd locked away. He protected her and loved her more than anything in the world. Andria couldn't have asked for Sammie to find someone more than Derek.

James laced his fingers through his sister's fingers, careful not to dislodge the IV continuing the blood transfusion that the doctors had begun almost three hours ago. He scrunched down where he sat on the bed next to her and rested his head against her shoulder. He didn't care that he was eighteen; he wanted to hug his sister as tightly as he could and never let go, the way he used to when they were little. He wanted her to wake up and hold him the way she did when she would come get him from the closet where she'd told him to hide. He needed her to wake up. He needed his sister. He couldn't loose her. He couldn't loose his best friend.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

"I'm so sorry, Morgan," Mark embraced his partner and Derek just nodded vacantly. He was too exhausted, emotionally and physically, to respond to the man's condolences.

"Did they get him?" Derek's voice sounded hollow to his ears.

"I'm sorry," Mark shook his head. "They're still looking for him."

"Tell me what happened." Mark looked unsure. "Doone, tell me. What happened?"

"He had a second car," Mark relented. "Probably stolen. The pickup belonged to him. Guess he figured we'd track him through it, so he left it and took her in the other car. Drove over to the alley in Ward Ten and then tried to beat her to death with a crowbar."

"Son of a bitch," Derek clenched both his hands.

"It sounds like she tried to fight back. The homeless man said he came looking because he heard a woman screaming. Said it sounded like a struggle, but by the time he got there, the woman, uhh, Samantha, was on the ground and Farese was just beating her with the crowbar. When Farese saw the homeless man, he landed a few more blows, dropped the crowbar and ran."

"I'm gonna find that son of a bitch," Derek promised. "I will get this sick bastard. I'll find him and I'll kill him."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

19 October, 2001

Derek sat next to his Sammie's bed in the spot he hadn't left in four days and held her hand in both of his as tightly as he could. His thumb ran over the scratched up skin on the back of her hand and he pressed kisses to each of her fingers. The right half of her face was covered in a red rash from being scrapped against the cement and the left half was cover in a thin layer of Polysporin and gauze. A thick white bandage covered the worst of the damage, where the top of her scull had been crushed into her brain and the doctors had operated.

"Baby Girl, please open your eyes," Derek begged. "Please, don't you dare leave me here, Samantha Morgan. Open your eyes. Look at me, Sammie. Please, Sammie, open your eyes and look at me. Dammit, Sam, don't you leave me like this. Don't you dare leave me here alone, Sammie."

The heart monitor beeped in time to the ventilators sucking air into Sammie's lungs and Derek kissed her fingers again. She had two separate IVs hooked into the cast-covered arm on the opposite side of the bed from where Derek sat. One bag had a saline solution and the second pumped a constant stream of medication and steroids into her veins. They had to work. They had to work and heal his angel so he could take her home.

He hadn't gone home. He hadn't left the hospital since Monday morning. Anthony had gone to the apartment and packed a bag of clothing. So Derek stayed with Sammie, never leaving her side unless he had to. He let his mother and mother-in-law handle Ellie's funeral. He couldn't handle dealing with, didn't want to deal with, the details of the funeral for the daughter he'd never been able to bring himself to hold. He wasn't strong enough to protect her mother and then he wasn't strong enough to hold her while she died.

"Please, Sammie," he whispered against her fingers. "Please, Princess, please open your eyes, Baby Girl. I love you, Sammie. I can't loose you. Already lost Ellie, I can't loose you too, Sammie. I can't. Don't leave me, Angel. Don't leave me. Please, Baby Girl. I can't stay here without you. Please, open your eyes."

"How's she doing?" James stood in the doorway as if he were afraid to enter the hospital room. James hadn't left either. Hadn't gone to school, hadn't slept much. The only time Derek had really seen the teenager sleep was when he was lying on the bed next to Sammie holding his sister's hand.

"Stable for the time being," Derek looked up. "She's stable right now. The doctors are waiting for the test results now."

"She's gonna be okay, right?" James voice was shaking and on the verge of breaking.

"I don't know, James," he shook his head and kissed Sammie's fingers again. "Do you want to talk to her? I can… I can leave for a second."

"No," James shook his head his blue eyes bloodshot. "You can't leave, Derek. You know that. She'll know if you leave. She always knows when you're there and when you're not."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

22 October, 2001

"I don't understand," Derek shook his head at Dr. LeBlanc.

"All the tests have shown that Samantha is in an irreversible coma – she's experienced brain death. There is no activity. The only things keeping her alive are the live support machines."

"B-but – but she's still breathing!"

"Because the ventilator is pushing air into her lungs. Not on her own," Dr. LeBlanc explained patiently.

"People have woken up from comas longer than a week before," Derek argued, looking at Sammie through the window to her room.

"Those patients have functioning brains, Officer Morgan. Your wife's brainstem is dead. She – Samantha will not wake up."

"Isn't there _anything_ you can do?"

"We can't bring people back to life, Officer Morgan. We can keep her alive on the machines, but we can't bring her back once her brain is dead. She can stay on the machines until her body gives out, but she will never open her eyes. I'm so sorry."

Derek turned and walked away from the doctor, back into Sammie's room and sat in his chair, reaching out and taking Sammie's hand. He stared at her, watching her chest rise and fall evenly. Some moments he could almost convince himself that she was just sleeping. But she never slept this way. Sammie rolled constantly, her breathing shifted between deep and shallow, her eyes moved and her hand would move back and forth between up by her face and sprawled out perpendicular to her body. She was never this still.

Could he stand to let her stay here, hooked up to machines until she died? Could he sit by her bed and know that she would never wake up? Never open her eyes and smile at him?

Even as he asked himself, he knew the answer. He knew what she would want. Derek knew that if she could sit up for a moment and tell him exactly what she wanted, she would tell him to take her off the machines. She would tell him that she wanted to go hold Ellie and see her grandfather. She would tell him she was ready to go to God.

"Where are you, God?" Derek asked the air. "'Cause you sure as hell aren't here. I know you don't care about me, but I thought you cared about her. All she's been through and you let her go through more? I don't understand. I don't understand! Why her? Why?

"What about James? You're taking the person who means more to him than anyone else and you don't care. Why are you letting this happen? If you're everything Sam thinks you are, why are you letting this happen? Where are you?"

Derek hung his head and let his forehead rest against Sammie's hand.

"He's here," Rodrigo said, as he walked into the room. Rodrigo, like most of the Campaniellos had been in and out of the hospital since the fifteenth. Rodrigo more in than out.

"He's taking Sam. How the hell is He _here_?"

"She's too good for this world. She and Ellie. They don't belong here, Derek. They belong with Him."

"They're my wife and daughter! They belong here with me!"

Rodrigo walked over to the other side of Sammie's bed and fondly smoothed a bit of hair a way from her face. "She's been through so much and she's only twenty-one. He's just trying to bring her home."

"She _is_ home! Her home is here!" Derek's voice was a bit too loud. "I need air."

Derek carefully put Sammie's hand back on the bed before getting up and stalking out of the room. Rodrigo followed him quietly for a while.

"I know how you feel, Derek."

"No, you don't," Derek laughed at him.

"I understand, Derek. This is a horrible situation. She's my niece, my favourite niece, and I love her very much. I understand what you're–"

"No! Don't you _dare_ tell me you know how I feel!" Derek turned around and yelled at Rodrigo, ignoring the people staring at them. "You don't know shit about what I'm feeling! I love her. More than anything in the Goddamned world. And she's dead. You've had over twenty years with Viola! I didn't even get two with Sammie! My wife… my wife is dead. She's – I'm never going to get her back! Don't you try and give me that bullshit! You get to take Viola home tonight, your children are safe at school. I will never take Sam home again, Ellie will never come home! I get to go back in there, sign the papers to take Sammie off of life support, sit next to her and held her hand while she dies!"

He couldn't stop yelling. Yelling was the only thing he could do. He just wanted to hit something. He wanted to make someone, anyone, feel as much pain as he felt. The sucking wound in his chest where his heart had been just a week ago was torture and the agony increased exponentially as every second passed. His ears rung continually with the way he imagined the beeps of Sammie's heart monitor slowing and growing fainter until it stopped completely. He couldn't block the sounds from his head. He kept hearing it over and over and over.

"Dammit! I have to go back in that hospital and watch them take my wife off of all those machines so she can die properly. I get to go back in there and sit next to my wife and try to figure out how the hell to I'm supposed to continue my life without her, how I'm supposed wake up every day knowing I will never see her smile again, how… how I'll never hear her play again, how I'll never get to hold her or… I get to go back in there and watch her die and then spend the rest of my life remembering how wonderful and beautiful and smart and talented and… loving Sammie was… and how much I love her when I'm _never_ going to be able to see her again. I have to figure out how to spend the rest of my life pretending I'm all right, pretending I don't miss her every second."

"Derek, you're not alone in this," Rodrigo said, reaching out to his nephew. "You don't have to go through this by yourself. Your family is here."

"You think I don't know that half of you blame me for all of this in the first place!" Derek jerked his arm out of Rodrigo's hand. "If I hadn't gotten her pregnant and if she hadn't married me than she would never have even been in Chicago. She'd have been at school and she wouldn't be brain dead right now."

"Samantha was there when she got pregnant, Derek. She was just as much a part of that as you were. Do you honestly think you two were the first couple in this family to get married because you got pregnant? Derek, Samantha's death is not your fault."

"No, it wasn't. She died because some idiots decided a murder should be let out of prison because he didn't actually succeed in killing her the first time! 'Sure, she's still alive! Let's let him out and see if he can manage it this time! Sounds like a great fucking plan to me!' 'Who cares if she's pregnant? Who cares if all Farese has thought about since Sammie finally pressed charges is how he can kill her? Sure, just let him go!' She's dead, Ellie's dead! They're both dead, because some idiots decided their safety wasn't worth keeping a violent psychopath in prison! I get to spend the rest of my life without her, without them, because I couldn't protect them! I wasn't strong enough!"

Finally, Derek couldn't yell anymore. His face finally crumpled in excruciating pain and he leaned against the hospital's white wall. His entire body shook horribly when he couldn't hold onto the choking sobs anymore.

o o o o

"_What is the noble truth of suffering? Birth is suffering, aging is suffering and sorrow and lamentation, pain, grief and despair are suffering." – Buddha_

* * *

**A/N:**

**Excuse me while I go curl in a ball and cry for forty years. Everyone, quick, go build your arks, because I'm about to cause a flood. I hate this chapter for making me flood the earth.**

**Also, I need to thank thompbrl for her help with figuring out Sammie's IVs and what they do. And Ren Kayashima for helping with the face gauze and checking this and then telling me I'm evil. Yay!**

**I live blogged during the Drum Corps International World Championship Awards last night, which was essentially me posting statuses on my fanfiction Facebook that were completely meaningless to 99.99999% of my friends. It went something like this:**

**[Warning: This program has language not suitable for young children. Viewer digression advised.]**

**- "Watching the DCI World Championship Awards Ceremony! GO CAVIES!"**

**- "HELL YES. CAVS WON BEST PERCUSSION!"**

**- "Santa Clara got 6th place. I still love you bbs."**

**- "Phantom Reg got 5th place. I no longer love you, my no longer bbs. Jk, jk. I love you forever."**

**- "WHAT THE FUCK! Such bullshit. Cavs only got 3rd. What. Ever."**

**- "And I really hated the Cadets' show too. How did that win? Ah well, at least it wasn't the Blue Devils."**

**- "But seriously tho? How the heck did Cadets beat the Cavs in VISUAL? THIS IS NO COMPRENDO!"**

**- "rawr. just rawr."**

**It was very profound, as all my statuses are. Seriously, my statuses are the weirdest things in the entire world. I love them. Because I am weird. Anyways, my friend and I went to the DCI Big, Loud and Live show in theaters on Thursday for the fourth year in a row and it was - ugh. I love it every time. The Cavs show was freaking amazing. They PLAYED UPSIDE DOWN. They took the tenors off their hooks, flipped up and hung on to another corps member by hanging his knees over the other dudes shoulders AND THEN PLAYED. They played tenors this way, snares this way, trumpets this way AND BRANDON FREAKING CAVE, THE MOST PERFECT DRUM MAJOR IN THE HISTORY OF EVER, CONDUCTED THE LAST 30 SECONDS UPSIDE DOWN. I died. I am writing from the beyond. (If you didn't read that last bit in Professor Trelawney's voice, I'm very disappointed in you.) In related news, Brandon Cave needs to stop being perfect. I already have too many unattainable crushes.**

**Okay, I'm going to go get lunch because I'm hungry.**

**I LOVE YOU LOADS, thanks for reading, I hope you liked it (even if you wanna kill me) and, please, tell me what you think - good or bad!**

**Love, Thalia**


	35. Chapter 35

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.**

* * *

"_It is a curious sensation: the sort of pain that goes mercifully beyond our powers of feeling. When your heart is broken, your boats are burned: nothing matters any more. It is the end of happiness." – George Bernard Shaw_

o o o o

25 October, 2001

Derek stood stalk still, dressed entirely in black, staring at the maple wood casket suspended over the freshly dug grave. Inside laid his beautiful, wonderful princess. He wanted his wife back. He wanted a miracle; he wanted her to sit up and push the lid off despite the fact that it had been bolted shut, ask what kind of sick joke this was and demand to know which of her deranged cousins thought this was funny so she could switch places with them to see how they liked it.

He wanted her next to him. He wanted this to be someone else's funeral. He wanted her to be leaning against him, trying desperately to ease the pressure on her swollen ankles without seeming fidgety or disrespectful to the person they were here to honour. He wanted to lead her away after the service, his arm supporting her around the waist, open the door to their little green Beetle and drive them home to their apartment. Maybe drive by the house to show her the how everything was ready for them to move in.

But there was no miracle to be had. His precious Sammie would not sit up and ask who the hell's idea it was to play this prank. She was gone. She would never fall asleep on the couch again, never shriek at lightening or laugh at the gore during a horror movie. He'd never have her shove a spoonful of sauce into his mouth again and have her ask if it was too garlicy. They'd never argue over whether or not 'garlicy' was a word.

The devastated Derek didn't hear a single bit of the service. Not one word permeated his consciousness until James elbowed him and nodded towards the casket. Derek blinked twice and James nudged him again. Squeezing his eyes shut, Derek walked forward and placed the white chrysanthemum he had been holding on top of the casket. James followed and placed his next to Derek's.

Derek watched as, one-by-one, people stepped up and left a chrysanthemum on the lid until the chrysanthemums were practically spilling over the edge. After they left their chrysanthemums, they began walking away, back towards the church, but Derek stayed. He stood with his hands clasped in front of him and stared at Sammie's casket.

He didn't know how long he stood there. He couldn't have even told you what he was thinking while he stood. It just felt like time had stopped and he was trapped until it restarted itself.

"Derek?" James' voice was quiet as it wafted over him, but he didn't respond. Time wouldn't let him.

"Derek?" James was more insistent this time, but, still, Derek ignored him. A car alarm started going off rhythmically in the distance.

"Derek!"

Derek blinked a few times and looked up over Sammie's bed to see James staring at him. Sammie's heart monitor sounded in his ear, a slow, steady low-pitched blip. Derek looked back down at Sammie's hand. The scraps had scabbed over and the swelling of her fingers had gone down enough for him to slip her wedding ring back on her left hand.

"Derek!"

"What?"

"Your aunt's here. And your cousin."

"Okay," Derek said dully, running his thumb over the back of Sammie's hand.

"Are you going to–"

"No," Derek answered without letting James finish the question. No, he wasn't going to get up and leave the room to greet his family. Today was the third day since Sammie had been taken off of life support. The third day and her heart was still beating. Dr. LeBlanc had not been able to explain how or why her lungs kept inhaling and exhaling once the ventilator had been removed, but they were. Derek had spent the past two days watching her chest rise and fall as she continued breathing. But he wasn't about to get up now, not for anyone. What if he left, even for a few seconds, and her lungs stopped? What if her heart failed and he wasn't there? What if she finally left and he wasn't sitting next to her holding her hand? Derek brought her hand to his lips and kissed the back. "I love you, Baby Girl. I love you so much."

James thinned his lips and turned, walking back out of the hospital room. Since they had removed the life support, James had spent as little time in the room as possible. Derek knew he was too afraid to be there, too afraid that she might die while he was there. Derek knew James' biggest fear was hearing his sister's heart monitor flat line.

Derek hadn't left, though. He hadn't left the hospital in over a week. The only time he'd left Sammie's room was the use the bathroom. Other than that, he sat right next to his wife's bed, slept in a rollaway cot as close to her bed as he could while still giving the nurses room to get to her.

No matter what, he would be here.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

1 November, 2001

She was still holding on. Seventeen days since she'd been admitted to the hospital, eleven since she was taken off of life support and she was still holding on. No one knew why. The doctors had preformed two MRIs and both showed no activity, but her body just refused to quit.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

5 November, 2001

Father Berlusconi walked towards the table holding two fresh candles to replace the two that were about to burn out. The table had originally only held one candle, but by the third day, the table had been completely covered, as it seemed everyone wanted to light their own candle for the Morgans and Campaniellos. Neither he nor any of the deacons had let any of the candles burn out.

Carefully, Father Berlusconi lit the first fresh candle from the same flame as one about to flicker out and replaced the two, dousing the original candle. He repeated the action with the second set of candles. Turning, he watched as a Deacon Garrett sat and prayed with Paola Campaniello and her husband Enzo Tardelli. In another corner, three teenagers sat in a circle on the ground.

Like the candles, a prayer vigil had been, and continued to be, a constant presence in the church. No one told Derek, however. He, Father Berlusconi, had tried once, but Derek had reacted so violently at the mere mention of the Lord that they thought it best to simply not tell him. The only reason Derek had allowed Father Berlusconi to come and pray over Sammie as they took her off of life support two weeks ago was because Derek knew Sammie would want it. Since then, anything religious had been met with scorn or anger that Father Berlusconi sadly understood. If he were correct about the reason behind why Derek had been so opposed to religion before meeting Sammie and was so opposed to it now that he was loosing her, then he could hardly blame the young man for his aversion and distrust and now his outright resentment and rage.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

9 November, 2001

Derek lifted Sammie's leg, bent it at the knee, carefully brought it back straight and then began the motion again. He repeated the slow, deliberate action fifteen times and then moved to the other side of the bed to give the other leg the same treatment. He didn't care that half the hospital staff thought he was crazy or that they whispered about the man who sat by his wife's side twenty-four hours a day, who exercised her limbs even though she was cognitively dead, who talked to her and played the music she loved on a small boombox, told her about how the Arizona Diamondbacks managed to edge out the New York Yankees to win the World Series and the Commissioner's Cup, who made sure the television was tuned to the Blackhawks games when they were on and discussed the NHL standings and games with her even if she couldn't talk back. All Derek cared about was Sammie and that every breath she took meant she was still alive, still alive and still breathing on her own, still here with him.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

15 November, 2001

Derek quietly held his wife's hand with his left and he wrote with his right. His station manager had decided that, since Derek was not cleared for fieldwork for at least another two weeks per Internal Affairs, he might as well complete his deskwork from the hospital. Either Mark or Carlos had been dropping by every evening to pick up the files and drop off new ones and, so, Derek had not left Sammie side.

Nick had still not been caught. A stolen dark blue, slightly dilapidated nineteen eighty Ford Fairmont had been found about seventy miles away with blood in the passengers' seat as well as the door, seat belt and steering wheel on the driver's side, but Nick was no where to be found. It was as if the man had vanished, but this wasn't the sort of 'vanished' Derek would have preferred. Derek had a different sort of 'vanished' he would have liked to apply to Nick Farese.

In the corner of the room, Andria snored slightly and shifted in the chair in which she slept. His mother-in-law had fallen asleep about an hour ago and the book she had been reading, a tatty copy _A Wrinkle in Time_ by Madeleine L'Engle, had fallen to the floor with a light thud when her grip became loose enough. Glancing at the watch on his wrist, Derek saw it was a little after three in the afternoon. Soon James would be out on the football field for practice and then his Aunt Marsi would bring him here.

Derek sighed and signed his name on the bottom of one report. Closing it with one hand and placing it on top of the pile, he reached for another one. This one was thick. About half way through the thirty-odd pages, Derek closed his eyes and scrubbed his eyes tiredly with his right hand. Paperwork would never –

He jerked his head up a quick, slight, barely-there pressure on his left hand. It couldn't be. It wasn't possible. He watched Sammie's face, but there was no movement and her hand was still lax in his. Derek shook his head. Wishful thinking. He wanted it so badly that he'd imagined she'd squeezed his hand.

Marking his place with a sticky note, Derek kissed Sammie's hand and stood, stretching his back and arms. He leaned over her bed and kissed her forehead, whispering that he loved her, before turning and walking out of the room. After a stop at the bathroom, Derek wandered to the lounge and bought a Coke from the machine. He needed some caffeine – that much was evident.

With a last stretch, Derek took his place next to Sammie's bed, taking her hand again. He hated the CD playing, but _Speechless_ was Sammie's favourite, so he had put it in and was listening to Steven Curtis Chapman sing. He really hated this song and debated getting up again to skip it, but Sammie loved this song, so he stayed where he was and tried to ignore it as he opened the file again.

_"And nothing we can do can take away the pain, the pain of losing you, but we can cry with hope. We can say goodbye with hope, 'cause we know our goodbye is not the end, oh no. And we can grieve with hope, 'cause we believe with hope. There's a place by God's grace, there's a place where we'll see your face again."_

Derek clenched his teeth and gripped the pen tighter.

_"And never have I know anything so hard to understand. And never have I questioned more the wisdom of God's plan. But through the cloud of tears, I see the Father smile and say 'well done.'"_

"Right. God's plan. Sure thing," Derek sneered as he turned the plan. "Swell plan, God. Real brilliant."

_"And I imagine you where you wanted most to be. Seeing all your dreams come true, 'cause now you're home and now you're free and we have this hope as an anchor, 'cause we believe that everything God promised us is true, so we wait with hope."_

Derek ran a thumb over Sammie's hand as he scribbled a few words down on the paper. There it was again. That squeeze. That beautiful, wonderful, barely there squeeze.

_"And we ache with hope."_

"Sammie?" Derek dropped his pen and it clattered on the tile. "Sammie, Angel?"

_"We hold on with hope."_

He kept dancing between watching her hand and watching her face, not knowing which to watch. He was watching her hand when he noticed the date on his watch.

_"We let go with hope_."

The fifteenth.

"Sammie? Baby Girl, can you hear me?"

_"We let go with hope."_

The squeeze. This time he saw it. Her fingers moved so slightly, so slowly, but he could feel it and he could see it. Her fingers moved.

"Sam, that's a girl. I'm right here, Angel."

Her breathing was slowly becoming deeper than it had been in a month, much deeper and far more real and substantial than the light, shallow breaths she had been taking. Derek could see her trying to open her eyes and describing the way his heart beat heavily in his chest, full of hope and terror at the same time, was impossible. Part of him wanted to run for a doctor, but he didn't. He stayed by Sammie's side, holding her hand and whispering encouragement to her.

Another try. Her eyelashes fluttered this time, but stayed closed.

"C'mon, Angel. You can do it. I know you, I know you can."

One more struggle and her eyes opened half way. Derek's knees gave out and he dropped next to her bed, pressing his forehead against her forehead and trying to hold back impossible-to-contain tears. He looked back up and through his tears he could see her brown eyes watching him tiredly.

_"We hold on with hope."_

o o o o

"_Never tell anyone that something can't be done. God may have waited centuries for someone ignorant enough of the impossible to do that very thing." – J.R. Holmes_

* * *

**A/N:**

**Oooooooooooooh shit what's going down now? I've had, like, seven zillion people tell me that they've always known how Cracked Concrete was going to end, but loved reading it anyways. And I've just been sitting here going, "... YOUHAVENOIDEA. TROLLOLOLOLOLOLOLOL!" But seriously. Don't try to guess how the story's ending. Because there's a 99.9999952% chance you're wrong. I love you all, but you're wrong. I've had this story planned out since I started it, so, no, I'm not changing the ending because people "guessed." You're all just wrong. And, if the roles were switched and I was reading, I'd probably would have been thinking the same thing yall have been thinking. [:**

**Andyways, on Friday I took a trip with Brutus and Squishie to the Blue Bell Creamery. It was so much fun. Blue Bell Ice Cream is the best in the entire world. BEST EVER.**

**I'm really missing hockey, so I'm currently re-watching the entire season. Judge me. Bobby Lu just got a shut-out and Hank just became one of two people to beat Martin Brodeur on a penalty shot. Beautiful.**

**Sad hockey news - on Monday one of my hockey babies passed away. He battled depression for nearly a decade and finally lost the one fight he couldn't win. Rick Rypien. He was never one of my absolute favourites, but he was my favourite fighter and I loved him so much. One of my wonderful friends in Vancouver posted my message up at the memorial at Roger's Arena for me and I couldn't even begin to thank her properly. Ripper spent six years as a Canuck before signing with the Jets this summer and he was the best damn pound-for-pound fighter in the league. He was only 5'11" and 190 pounds, but he'd take on anyone and he'd usually win too. Love you so much, Ripper. Have fun playing hockey up there with Luc. You don't have to fight anymore.**

**Happy hockey news - God seemed to realize that Canuck fans needed something to remind them how to smile and yesterday the pictures from Tanner and Emily Glass' wedding were posted on the photographer's blog and the video was posted as well and the entire Canucks tumblrbase spent all night freaking out over them. Ugh. So much precious.**

**Okay, I'm off. LOVE YOU. Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it and, please, tell me what you think - good or bad!**

**Love, Thalia**

**P.S. Chrysanthemums, not roses are used at Italian funerals. Just in case you were wondering.**


	36. Chapter 36

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.**

* * *

"_It is only the impossible that is possible for God. He has given over the possible to the mechanics of matter and the autonomy of his creatures." – Simone Weil_

o o o o

15 November, 2001

"I have no idea," Dr. LeBlanc admitted several hours later, glancing at the bed where Sammie lay asleep. She had fallen asleep an hour or so ago as the doctors and nurses ran tests, specifically while she lay in the MRI machine. "There is no medical reason why Samantha has opened her eyes. She has been dead for a month."

"But she did," Derek pointed out and Fran squeezed his upper arm. As soon as Sammie had woken up and Derek had been pushed away from her side, he had paged his mother and she had left work to rush to the hospital. "So where do we go from here?"

"Well, we have to see what the tests say and then go from there. Her blood tests should come back in an hour or so. I rushed the MRI results and hopefully we'll get them back soon," Dr. LeBlanc sighed and ran a hand over his balding head. "What we know now is that Samantha doesn't have the ability to move either of her legs or her right arm. She – she also doesn't seem to be able to speak or fully understand what people are saying to her. She made a few noises, but nothing intelligible."

"Could this just be temporary?" Andria asked hopefully.

"Yes, it could. Honestly, only time will really be able to tell us how far Samantha's recovery will go. It's just as possible that she could make a full physical recovery, as it is that she could remain paralyzed and mute for the rest of her life. It's really all up to her. That said, you need to be prepared for the fact that Samantha could be and probably will be very different than she was before."

"What do you mean?" Derek's head jerked back to the doctor. "Different how?"

Dr. LeBlanc reached for Sammie's clipboard and flipped through a few pages until he find a page with three sketches of a brain – one from the top, one from the left and one from the right. Each sketch had shading from a red pen. Pulling a pen from the chest pocket of his white coat, he held the clipboard so Derek, Fran and Andria could see the sketches. He used the pen as a pointer.

"The direct damage to her brain is contained here – in the frontal lobe, left side. Mostly in the left prefrontal cortex. Our frontal lobe controls our memory, language, judgment, motor function, impulse control, problem solving, attention span, and social and sexual behaviour," Dr. LeBlanc paused. "Essentially, our frontal lobe makes us who we are."

"So…" Derek wasn't sure what to say or how to respond. "So, she might not remember anything?"

"That's possible, but it's more complicated than that. Most patients with damage to their left frontal lobe have symptoms of apathy, indifference, depression, and hyporesponsiveness."

"What's hyporesponsiveness?" Andria asked the question before Derek could.

"A lessened degree of response to physical or emotional stimuli," Dr. LeBlanc explained. "A person who is hyporesponsive, um, they would tend react to sometime with – A person with hyporesponsiveness might be sitting at the dinner table with her family and might be oblivious to the people around her. You could talk to her and she might not respond. Her responses seemed alright before, so I'm not overly concerned with hyporesponsiveness right now, but it is still a possibility. I'll be able to tell more over the next few days."

Derek rubbed at his temples. "I thought you said she couldn't respond."

"No," Dr. LeBlanc shook his head, "I said she can't move her legs or her right arm and that she couldn't seem to understand what anyone was saying to her and that _her_ attempts to communicate were unintelligible. However, she did response. Her eyes followed the noise, she could move her head, and she made a few attempts to speak. All of which are very, very good signs."

"So, she _did_ respond," Derek clarified and even he could hear the hope in his voice.

"Samantha was responsive, yes. But, like I said, we'll be able to tell more over the next few days. She's worn out now and it's best to just let her sleep."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

"Hey, Sammie Girl," Derek whispered, kissing her fingers. He wouldn't be able to stop smiling if his life depended on it. He felt her fingers shift in his hand. It felt like a miracle. Each tiny movement was proof that the only person in his world that mattered was still alive, still with him. "I love you, Angel. I can't even tell you how glad I am right now. You are my entire world, Sam. I don't – I love you, Sammie. I can't – I can't loose you, Sam."

Her fingers flexed again, almost like she could hear him talking to her, and he smiled. Derek kissed her fingers again. Sammie took a deep breath and her head moved, rolling towards him. Reaching out, Derek pushed a lock of blonde hair away from her face. Her lips moved into a brief smile before it faded and Derek grinned widely.

Derek ran his thumb over her cheek, feeling the scar under her eye. He was about to lean over and give her a kiss, but the door started opening and he stayed in his seat. His mother-in-law walked through the door. Andria sat down beside Derek and reached out to squeeze his knee. Neither one of them spoke; they just sat and watched the person who kept them here.

"This is my fault," Derek admitted some time later, his voice quiet with shame.

"It's not," Andria shook her head. "None of this is your fault, Derek."

"I didn't protect her, Mom. How is this _not_ my fault? I'm supposed to take care of her and protect her," Derek ran his thumb over the back of Sammie's hand. "And I didn't."

"Derek, this isn't your fault. You – you saved Samantha's life. You saved her life, Derek. If you hadn't come into her life, Nick would have killed her two years ago," Andria smiled sadly. "You are the best thing that's ever happened to Samantha, no matter what happens now."

"She's the best thing that's ever happened to me."

Sammie's fingers shifted in his hand and Derek glanced at her face. The scabbing on the right side of her face was nearly gone and only the scar underneath her eye remained noticeable. The left side of her face was unrecognizable. The skin was healing in twisted knots of scar tissue over the shattered bones and there was an indention in her skull where the doctors had removed the bones that had been crushed into her brain.

Derek didn't care what she looked like. He hadn't fallen in love with her looks, though he had never exactly complained about them. He was far more concerned with what Dr. LeBlanc had said about her personality. Would she still be the Sammie he'd fallen in love with? Or would she be someone completely different?

ooo ooo ooo ooo

16 November, 2001

Sammie felt exhausted. She felt like she had slept for a century and needed to sleep for another. Her head was foggy and she wasn't completely sure where she was. She should open her eyes, but the effort it took to do so…

She lifted her eyelids and it felt like each one weighed a hundred pounds. This wasn't her home. The ceiling was that obvious. Her left hand itched. She reached over to scratch it, but nothing happened. Her right arm wouldn't move when she told it to.

Slowly, she turned her head to the left and her eyes fell on Derek asleep on a rollaway bed next to her. She stretched her fingers towards him.

"Derek." She said his name, but nothing came out. She tried again and all that came out was an awkward gargling. Sammie reached for him, but her hand arm didn't move as far as she meant it to. She focused on moving her left arm towards Derek inch by inch until her fingertips slipped over the edge of her bed. Slowly and with more effort than it should have needed, she pushed her hand onto his bed.

"Derek." It came out a quiet gargling again and Sammie felt frustration fill her. She gritted her teeth and kept deliberately and gradually moving her hand towards him until her fingertips brushed his wrist. Derek didn't move. Sammie continued pushing her hand until her fingers lay over his hand. She lifted her hand and let it fall back on his hand. Derek shifted slightly, but didn't wake.

Sammie tried again and Derek screwed his eyes shut. She let out a frustrated gargle and hit his hand again. And again and again. Derek blinked, but didn't open his eyes. Aggravated, she moved on from his hand, dragging her hand farther up until she could touch his face. Sammie traced her fingertip over his lips, which twitched in a smile. Then she lifted her hand as high as she could and let it fall on his face.

Derek jumped, awake instantly.

Sammie tried to say his name again, but it didn't sound like his name at all. Derek sat up, turning on the light and reaching towards her in the same movement. She saw his eyes water as he cupped a hand to her face.

"Sammie, Angel. Oh, thank you, God," Derek bent over her and kissed her forehead. "Hey, Angel. How are you feeling?"

Screwing her eyes shut, she tried to answer. She tried to tell him she was tired and her ears were ringing, but her answer sounded like noises her one-year-old cousin would make.

"That's okay, Baby. It's okay," Derek bent over again and kissed her properly. The kiss felt strange, as if his mouth wasn't pressed against hers the way it usually did. "Can you blink once if something hurts?"

Sammie blinked once.

"Arm?" Derek asked, but Sammie didn't blink so Derek continued. "Head?"

Sammie blinked. Derek reached over and pressed the call button.

"The doctor will be here soon, okay?" Derek was smiling and running a hand over her face, but she couldn't feel it. She knew he was touching her face because she could see his hand right next to her eye, but she couldn't feel it at all.

Why couldn't she feel that half of her face?

Her breathing quickened and Derek noticed. "Sam, Sam, calm down, Sam. Please, calm down, Angel. Slow breaths, Angel. Slow breaths. It's okay, Sammie. Listen to me, Sam. Take a deep breath, Baby."

Sammie tried, but she could.

"Shhh, Sam, look at me, Baby. Focus on me," Derek squeezed her hand gently and she focused on his face. "You're okay, Sammie. Please, take a deep breath, Angel. There we go, Baby. You're okay."

"Mrs. Morgan, good to see you awake," Dr. Hsü came into the room.

"I think she's having a panic attack," Derek told the doctor as she stopped next to him.

"Mrs. Morgan, focus on me for a second. Okay, take a breath through the nose. Deep, even breathe. That's good, now blow out, just like I'm doing. Very good."

It took a few minutes, but Sammie's breathing returned to normal. Dr. Hsü smiled as grabbed Sammie's chart. "Do you know where you are, Mrs. Morgan?"

Sammie shook her head.

"You're in Northwestern Medical Hospital," Dr. Hsü wrote something down and then looked back up. Sammie tried to speak again. Dr. Hsü waited patiently and Derek squeezed her hand. She tried a second time without any improved results. She kept trying until she managed a sound that resembled what she was trying to say.

"Ellie?" Derek asked quietly and Sammie nodded. "Sam…" Derek shut his eyes and ran a hand over his face. "Sammie, Ellie's gone."

He could see the devastation crumble its way across her face and Dr. Hsü quietly excused herself. Derek knelt down so that he was on the same level she was. She was crying outright and Derek could feel his own grieve resurfacing as he held her hand and did his best to comfort her now that he didn't have the ability to gather her up into his arms and hold her close.

"I know, Angel," he whispered, kissing her fingers. "I know."

Eventually, her sobbing subsided and Derek gently wiped her face for her. She made a noise that sounded almost like his name, or like she was trying to say his name, and Derek gave her a weak, sad smile.

"I love you, Angel."

Sammie tried to respond and Derek nodded.

"I know," he kissed her, "I know."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

"Sam!" James burst into her hospital room the next morning and Derek raised a hand to his lips.

"She's asleep," Derek whispered. "It's Friday. Why aren't you in school?"

"Like hell I'm going to school," James scoffed at him as Andria walked into the room after him. "Sam woke up."

"And if you don't be quieter she's going to wake up again," Derek said pointedly. "She needs to sleep, James."

"I haven't talked to my sister in a month," James grumbled in Italian, plopping down in the chair opposite in.

"You can wait until she wakes up," Derek responded, also in Italian, and James looked up, startled. "Yeah, I understand you perfectly, kid. You think I've learned nothing over the past two years?"

James stared for a moment and then started laughing. Derek grinned. Sammie shifted and Derek's attention went straight to her. He watched as she blinked her eyes open.

"G'morning, Angel."

o o o o

"_True love comes quietly, without banners or flashing lights. If you hear bells, get your ears checked." – Erich Segal_

* * *

**A/N:**

**Someone needs to come write the next chapter of _Mystery Muse_ for me, because it's kicking my ass. Seriously, every time I try to work on it, it makes me homicidal. I'm about two inches away from printing out Callie's picture and throwing darts at it in anger. This really isn't doing anything good for my sanity case. I'd ground her, but that would probably be counterproductive. So I'll just grumble and threaten her under my breath.**

**Friday was my favourite hockey player's birthday. Sami's pretty much the most under appreciated player in the history of ever - or at least in the running for the title. But on Friday my "Sami Salo" tracked tag on Tumblr kept exploding. So I'd just keep letting the tracked tag get to ten, then clicking it and looking at everything. And then I let it get to ten again and flail. I don't even care. I'll flail over him forever. I REGRET NOTHING.**

**I'm gonna go back to yelling at Callie now.**

**Thanks for reading! I hope you liked it and, please, tell me what you think - good or bad!**

**Love, Thalia**


	37. Chapter 37

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.**

* * *

"_True love never dies, for it is lust that fades away. Love bonds for a lifetime, but lust just pushes away." – Alicia Barnhart_

o o o o

29 November, 2001

"Hey Angel," Derek smiled at her as he walked into the hospital room. Her movements were slow and deliberate, but Sammie raised her hand off the mattress a few inches in greeting. Her bed had been raised so she was propped up in a forty-five degree angle. Stopping next to her, Derek leaned down and kissed her forehead. "How are you feeling, Baby Girl?"

Sammie made a few feeble noises before giving up. The nurse who had been cleaning the reopened scar tissue on Sammie's skull looked up at Derek with a tired smile. "She's having a good day today. We had a little bit of movement in the right hand earlier. We got our thumb and index finger moving."

"Yeah?" Derek pulled up the chair next to Sammie's bed. He didn't particularly like that the nurse spoke to and about Sammie like she were a small child, but he didn't say anything. He would let the nurse slide this time – give her the benefit of the doubt. She might be tired, might have had a long day. Next time, though, he would mention it. So instead he kept his attention on his wife.

He had gone back to work a week ago and being away from Sammie twelve hours a day every other day stressed him out worse than actually working. Derek was terrified that something would happen while he was gone. When the nurse left, Derek leaned over and gave Sammie a kiss. The mangled side of her mouth felt funny beneath his lips, but he didn't mind. A funny kiss was better then no kiss. He would gladly take any sort of kiss available to him.

"I love you, Angel," Derek squeezed her hand. Sammie made a noise that he had quickly come to understand as 'I love you.' "So what's this about you moving your hand while I was gone?"

Sammie responded by flexing her fingers in his hand. Derek smiled happily and she shifted her fingers again.

"You're amazing, Baby Girl." Derek glanced at her now-bald scalp, where staples were once again holding the wound closed. Two days ago she had undergone another surgery to attach a protective titanium plate to her skull where the bone had been removed. "How are you feeling? How's your head feeling?"

Derek waited patiently as Sammie searched slowly through the index cards her mother had made for her. Each card had a word written in Italian and, beneath that, the same word was written in English. Sammie had trouble with English. She had trouble communicating at all, but English caused more trouble than Italian did. Dr. LeBlanc had explained that her first language was more cemented in her mind than the second, so she had a better chance of recalling it. She could understand English, but it took much longer and caused her vastly more frustration, so the family stuck to Italian.

Finally, Sammie held up a card that read _'Stanco – Tired.'_ Derek smiled at her and waited as she searched through the cards again. After two and a half minutes, she held up a card reading _'Affamato – Hungry.'_

"You haven't eaten dinner yet?"

Sammie shook her head and Derek stood up to go in search of a nurse. Sammie insisted on trying to feed herself, which made Derek happy. He told her about the three-three tie the Blackhawks had with the Vancouver Canucks the night before and took over feeding her when she became too tired.

"Try to go to sleep, Angel," Derek kissed her and he pushed the rolling cart with her tray on it over to the wall a while later. "You need to rest, Sam."

Derek settled himself into his chair, getting ready to stay for a while, but Sammie was shifting through her cards. She held up a card and Derek frowned.

"The dog? Clooney? He's at my mom's house."

Sammie shook her head and kept the card raised. Derek read the card again. Sure enough, the card read _'Cane – Dog.'_

"What about Clooney, Sam?"

Sammie looked frustrated. Derek felt his heart sink when he realized what was wrong. The card wasn't right. This had happened before. She knew what she wanted to say, but the information was getting garbled. Derek stood up and reached over her to pick up the cards by her side.

With the index cards in one hand, Derek slowly and very carefully moved Sammie over across the bed so he would fit next to her. Sammie watched silently as Derek eased himself onto the bed. Once he was settled, he gingerly helped her move closer until she could rest her head against his arm. Derek threaded his fingers through hers and felt her flex her fingers briefly.

Slowly, they went through the cards together. Derek had slowly got through the cards twice before Sammie squeezed his hand faintly. Stopping, he glanced at the card reading _'Casa – Home.'_

"Baby Girl, you know you can't go home yet."

But Sammie was shaking her head. Lifting her left arm, she pointed at him.

"You want me to go home?" Derek asked, but she was nodding before he'd even finished his question. "No, Sam. I'm going to stay here with you."

She frowned at him and pinched his finger with her nails.

"She's right, you know."

Derek looked up away from Sammie to see Paola standing in the doorway. Paola continued into the room, dropping her bag in the chair and then walking over to the bed. She stooped and kissed her niece's cheeks.

"_Ti amo, Samantha. Ma dovreste essere addormentato, signorina_," Paola scolded lightly, with a smile, as she walked around the bed to greet Derek the same way.

"I've been trying to get her to go to sleep," Derek said, running his thumb over the back of Sammie's hand. "We were having a little trouble with 'house' and 'dog."'

"She's right, Derek," Paola sat in the chair Derek had been sitting in earlier. "You haven't slept in a proper bed in a month and a half."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

Derek pulled into his driveway later that night with Clooney in the front seat, having been successfully shooed out of the hospital room to go home for the night for the first time in over a month. The moment he turned the key in the ignition, Clooney perked up, eager to get out of the car and explore. Clooney jumped out of the car as soon as he could and started sniffing around the front yard while Derek walked up the steps and opened the front door.

Clooney ran into the house when called and Derek took a good look around the house. Their families had taken it upon themselves to move Derek and Sammie out of the apartment before their lease expired and Derek couldn't be more thankful. Their furniture was set up and waiting to be used, the kitchen was stocked with food and cooking equipment filled the cabinets, cloths hung in the closets and pictures on the wall.

Just standing in the small foyer that offered a view of both the kitchen and the living room and also the hallway that would lead to the bedroom, the spare room and… and the nursery. The nursery that Ellie would never use, that might never be used at all. Derek shook the thought from his mind and looked around, really absorbing everything for the first time. He had been in the house since they have been moved, but never for very long and he had never stopped to actually look at the house.

Clooney bumped Derek's hand with his nose and sat on his haunches, tail wagging and thumping on the hardwood floor as he looked expectantly at Derek. But Derek didn't notice the German shepherd a lick. He was staring at the photograph of his mother holding tiny baby Ellie. Fran's face was smiling, but she still looked a little sad. The nurse had offered to take pictures of them with Ellie, saying a lot of families like the pictures, the only memories they would have, and that Ellie would just look like she was sleeping.

Derek refused. He didn't want the pictures. He couldn't handle it. The rest of the family had wanted them, however. His mother and sisters, Andria, James and Sammie's grandmother, Marsala, had wanted them. But not Derek.

He couldn't bring himself to hold his own daughter and the knowledge of that weakness, that greatest failure, ate away at him.

The photo of his mother and his daughter hurt to see, so Derek reached out and took the frame from the wall. With a last look at it, he shoved it in the drawer of the wall table over which it had been hanging. He couldn't handle seeing it every time he walked through the living room.

With the offending picture out of view, Derek turned back to the other photographs decorating the walls. Whichever of his family members had decorated the house had done a nice job. There were touches he knew came from his mom and he assumed Sammie's aunts had their hands in the rest of it. Sammie would like it. He knew she would when he brought her home.

Derek smiled, his eyes stopping on their wedding picture. He would be bringing her home. He had thought for so long, for what felt like forever, that he would be saying goodbye to his angel in that hospital room, but he'd been given a second change. He'd been given a miracle and he would never stop being thankful for it.

The light shifted as the last of the sun disappeared and Derek reached out and flipped the light, turning his attention down the hallway. Two doors were open and one, the one behind which stood a pink nursery, was closed. Clooney poked his head out of the room that had been painted yellow, staring at Derek with a goofy look on his face.

Shaking his head with a half-smile on his face, Derek walked down to the dog and squatted down to scratch the dog behind his ear as he looked around the room. Sammie's upright piano sat against the far wall beneath a high window. Tall bookshelves flanked the piano on either side, each one overflowing with music books and reeds and cork grease and all sorts of other musical doodads and knickknacks whose purposes Derek would never fully understand. Derek smiled.

"_Derek!" Sammie laughed and pushed his face away. "I can't play when you do that!"_

"_Do what?" Derek teased, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and kissing her behind the ear over the tiny bit of inked flesh._

"_That!" she was dissolving in giggles as she covered his hands with hers._

"_You play pretty," he whispered and kissed her cheek._

'_I could play prettier if you stop," Sammie turned to look at him and he took the chance to kiss her._

Would they ever get to the place where he could sneak up on her while she played? Derek blinked and turned away from her piano. Their life was never going to be that way again and dwelling on what had been would only make it worst. Maybe one day she would be able to play the piano again, but she would never play the instrument that meant the most to her. Her mouth would never be able to form the clarinet embouchure again.

Derek turned away from the music room entirely, barely noticing his desk and computer against another wall or the other instrument cases littering the room. Sammie was coming home. That's all that mattered. They would deal with the rest later.

Closing the door behind him, Derek followed the dark hallway down to their bedroom. It was more put together than their bedroom had been in the apartment. More polished. More someone-actually-took-some-time-and-designed-this-room. Sammie would like it. He liked most of it. Derek reached out and turned a picture of Marsala and Ellie facedown on the table. Better.

The alarm clock on the nightstand glowed red at him and he could feel his own exhaustion twice over. He needed sleep. Clooney was already settled at the edge of the bed, his eyes closed and his head resting on his paws.

That night, Derek slept on Sammie's side of the bed. Or he tried too. The entire bed smelt like her and Derek woke every thirty minutes and then spent another thirty trying to fall back asleep, so he eventually picked himself up and collapsed on the couch in the living room. It was there that he finally managed to fall into a proper sleep.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

4 December, 2001

Sammie regained the use of her right arm within a few days of being able to more her fingers and Derek found it difficult to stay in the moment rather than think about what she might do next. It was hard and painful to remind himself that she might not progress past this place and that that was okay. That where she was now was more than what he had been guaranteed not two months ago.

On his mother-in-law's very strict orders, Derek was spending the morning of his day off away from Sammie's side and hating every second of it. Though, the porch in front of their house stood as proof that his hospital hiatus was, if nothing else, productive. A yard of the pretty white railing at the end of the porch closest to the driveway had been removed and a curved ramp lead from the driveway up to the opening on the porch.

Mopping his forehead with the sleeve of his Blackhawks sweatshirt, Derek bit the inside of his mouth and studied the ramp. Once it was painted white and had a coat of enamel on it, the ramp would look just like the rest of the porch. The weatherman had said there wouldn't be any rain or snow for the rest week and Derek was praying that that stupid weatherman was right for once in his career.

A car drove up, stopped in front of the house and Derek watched as Marsala got out. All he could think was 'Please, don't want to go inside' because the pictures of Ellie had not been put back – one was still stuck in the drawer and the one that had been in their bedroom was now tucked on the top shelf of the closet after he'd accidently knocked it off the dresser when he bumped into it on his way to the couch.

"You must be cold," Marsala said as she walked up the sidewalk. Derek shrugged and rubbed the back of his head.

"Not really. Working kept me warm."

"It looks nice."

"It'll look better when it's finished." Derek didn't know what to say. Marsala hadn't spoken to him since he and Sammie had announced they were getting married. He wasn't sure if she had spoken to Sammie either. "Umm, what can –"

"I came to give you this," the tiny, plump woman reached into the pocket of her thick winter coat that made her nearly twice as big as she really was and pulled out a small black pouch. She held the pouch out for him and Derek took it, opening it when she looked at him expectantly.

George's crucifix spilled out into it palm.

"I can't take this," Derek shook his head and tried to hand the jewelry back.

"No. It belongs to you," Marsala closed his hand over the crucifix.

"No, it should go to one of your grandkids, not to me. That's what George would want."

"Young man, I was married to him for fifty-seven years. I think I know what my husband would want and what he wouldn't want and he would want you to have that." Marsala put her hands on her hips as well as she could is her poufy jacket and gave him a glare she'd handed down to all of her daughters and granddaughters. "My father gave this to George when we got married. He said that marriage is hard work and very day is a challenge and making a marriage work takes a lot of dedication. I was angry with you and with Samantha for getting pregnant, for being so irresponsible. But you did the right thing and you married her. You… you took care of her better than I could have asked."

"She deserves better," Derek shrugged as if it didn't matter, but hearing this felt good and made him feel a little less hated.

"What she deserves is not the point," she shook her head. "You've done everything you can for her and you're still doing everything you can for her. You're out here in the middle of winter building a ramp for her in case she comes home soon."

"I want her home," Derek whispered, more to himself than to Marsala.

"We all want her home. If you stay with her, your life is going to be very hard and a lot of work, more than any normal marriage."

"What 'if?'" Derek stared at her. "She's my wife. I'm not going to abandon her!"

"I know, I'm sorry, that didn't come out the way I meant," Marsala looked flustered. "I know you're not going to leave her. I just meant that you both have a very difficult road ahead of you and you're going to need all the help you can get. We will be here. But He'll be here too, if you let Him."

Marsala stepped towards him and reached up to put her arms around his neck and hug him. Derek stooped down for her and she pushed up on her toes to kiss his cheek.

"_Ti amo, nipote."_

"_Ti amo, nonna."_

With that, Marsala turned and left and Derek was standing in the yard holding the gold crucifix he had never seen anywhere but around George's neck as she drove away. Derek wrestled with himself for a few moments about what to do with the crucifix. Part of him thought to wear it. He knew seeing it would make Sammie unbelievably happy, happier than anything else he could do for her right now. But wearing it would be like lying. He didn't know how he felt about God – especially right now. When Sammie was having a good day, he let himself believe, but then, when she had a bad day, there was no God. How could he wear this and let Sammie believe something he wasn't sure of?

Derek closed his fingers over the precious piece of jewelry and jogged up the steps and into the house. It took him a few minutes, but he found Sammie's jewelry box hidden in the top drawer of their dresser. The first piece of jewelry he saw was the necklace he'd given her for her twenty-first birthday. Derek smiled and put the crucifix in the same compartment as the diamond solitaire, closed the lid and tucked it back into their dresser.

He'd keep it safe and maybe… maybe one day, when he was sure, he would wear the crucifix that the man he admired second only to his father had held so close. But only when he was sure.

o o o o

"_Only people who are capable of lovely strongly can also suffer great sorrow, but this same necessity of loving serves to counteract their grief and heals them." – Leo Tolstoy_

* * *

**A/N:**

**I so don't know what to write. I'm tired. So this is probably going to be very stream on concious. Thompbrl and Ren Kayashima are awesome. I'm talking with them now. It's Aaron Rome's birthday. He's flawless. Yesterday was the birthday of my BFF Kaff. I told her I'd buy her a cemetery plot for her birthday and that she was so old she should just go lie in the coffin and wait. I also texted her saying "OMG, IT'S YOUR BIRTHDAY. YOU'RE ONE YEAR CLOSER TO DEATH." I love her very much. She's been like my sister for nearly half my life. And more than half of the life I can remember, because I really can't remember much before I was five or six. Yesterday was also the birthdays of Henrik and Daniel Sedin. I call Henrik my "flawless acorn head." Because his head is sort of acorn shaped. It's a term of endearment, really. I'm probably the only person in the world that track-tags "Aaron Rome" on tumblr. I regret nothing. I love Romer. Yann Sauvé looks like Matt Lewis. I enjoy it very much. I'm sad he got sent back to Manitoba, but I know he's not ready for the big leagues yet. The only time we'll be seeing Yann is if our Defence get's hit by the injury bug again. And if that happens I might just go postal. I like calling Yann "Suave Sauvé." It makes me laugh. No one really gets it. I don't know why. I think it's hysterical. Wait a second, our farm team isn't in Manitoba anymore. We're in Chicago now. That's so wrong. I don't like it. I want to go back to Manitoba.**

**Earlier, I was talking with one of my friends, she's seven years younger than I am, but we're clones and she's like my little sister and that's the sort of relationship we have and I love her to death. I call her "Bambina Torte," which means "Baby Cakes" in Italian. We're both Italian. We talk Italian to each other. I have to use a dictionary, because I'm not really very fluent at all. Anyways. We were having a conversation and somehow we got from "OMG HAPPY BIRTHDAY AARON ROME!~~!~!" to "BUT SERIOUSLY. PATRICK KANE IS AS UGLY AS A BABOON'S BUTT!" in less than five minutes. I have no idea how it happened. But I liked it. I'm not sorry. I don't like Patrick Kane. He's a player, he uses girls like his own personal prostitutes because he knows he can, he just plain annoys me, I think he's ugly and I don't like his playoff mullet. There's only one guy in the world who can pull off a mullet and that's Tanner Glass.**

**I want a cupcake. I don't know why. I just do. Someone bring me a cupcake. I want a cupcake to celebrate Romer's birthday. I'll put a candle in it and blow it out and yell, "Happy Birthday, Romer!" and then I'll stuff myself with the cupcake. Or at least eat it. Because I don't think a cupcake is enough to stuff yourself on. Unless your a mouse. Or if it's one of those big cakes that's shaped like a cupcake. You know, the ones where you can carve out the middle and put something in it and then you frost it to look like a cupcake? I don't like cake with "stuff" in it. Like, jelly stuff. I mean, I love carrot cake with small bits of carrots in it or chocolate cake with fudge or whatever. But I don't like cakes with fruit fillings or that sort of stuff. If I wanted fruit fillings, I'd get a pie.**

**Thanks for reading! I hope you liked it and, please, tell me what you think - good or bad!**

**Love, Thalia**

o o o o

"Ti amo, Samantha. Ma dovreste essere addormentato, signorina." - "I love you, Samantha. But you should be asleep, young lady."

"Ti amo, nipote." – "I love you, grandson."

"Ti amo, nonna." – "I love you, grandma."


	38. Chapter 38

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.**_

* * *

_"Love is divine only, and difficult always. If you think it is easy, you are a fool. If you think it is natural, you are blind. It is a learned application without reason or motive except that it is God." – Toni Morrison_

o o o o

6 January, 2002

The wheels of the wheelchair squeaked slightly against the polished tile floor as Derek pushed it down the hallway. James was talking a mile a minute in his ear about the upcoming soccer game against their cross-district rivals.

"Scouts are going to be there to see us play and Coach said that a scout from SMU and a scout from UCLA called to see if I was playing. And they're both coming! So I'm getting the start, of course, and Harrison's back from his separated shoulder, so our offense is going to be incredible. We just have to get through that defense they have. Their defense is really tight this year. They're great at breaking up odd-man rushes."

"Guess it's good that Harrison's back. You're going to need Harrison at centre to get to the back of the net," Derek turned the wheelchair around a corner a little bit too quickly and Sammie let out a startled noise. "Sorry, Angel."

"You're going to the game, right?" James asked, looking at Sammie but talking to Derek.

"I dunno, James. We'll see on Friday."

"Ddurkk." Sammie's voice was clear and sounded a little annoyed as she said his name. Derek leaned down and kissed the top of her head, the short fuzz of blonde hair tickled against his lips.

"You want me to go, don't you?"

"Sì," Sammie nodded as Derek pushed her into the physical therapy room. Then she pointed at herself.

"You want to go too?" Derek stopped and applied the breaks to the wheels so that the wheelchair wouldn't move. Sammie nodded at him as he reached for her, hooking his hands beneath her arms and lifted her up the way the physical therapist had taught him. The physical therapist watched as Derek helped her to the other chair. Sammie moved her feet very slowly, carefully shuffling one foot then the other until they'd made it the four feet from her wheelchair to the hard plastic therapy chair. "We'll see, Angel."

"Well done, Derek," the therapist stood as Derek and James sat in two of the chairs lining the wall.

Sammie was supposed to have come home for Christmas Day, but when he'd gotten to the hospital to pick her up she had been having such a bad day already that they decided it was not a good idea for her to be checked out, especially for something that would cause such sensory overload. She had a lot of bad days.

That happened more often now. Her bad days came more and more frequently and they were no longer just 'bad.' They were terrible. On bad days, Sammie was hostile and listless, incompliant with anything and everything said to or asked of her. On bad days, she lay in bed and stared vacantly at the wall instead of sitting up, alert and engaged. On bad days, Derek could do nothing to get her attention and, on the off chance that he did, she snapped at him, hostile and angry. Despite her bad days, the doctors and therapists said she was close to coming home.

Derek wanted her home. It didn't matter how many bad days she had. He wanted her at home again. Taking her to the soccer game would be wonderful if she were having a good day. She would love going to the game as much as he'd love taking her to the game.

James kept talking in his ear, but Derek wasn't paying attention. It was something about the other team's keep having a weird, unconventional style of tending goal, but Derek was watching Sammie move marbles from the bowl on her right, from her right hand to her left and then into the bowl on her left.

Her movements were still slow, but the exercise moved much more quickly then it had the first time. The last marble hit the bowl and the therapist praised her efforts before they began the exercise in reverse. This way was more difficult, but every time it became more manageable. So many of her exercises were tasks like this – things no one would have thought about back in October. Three months ago, moving marbles didn't require any sort of thought. She could have moved the marbles, chewed gum, talked, sipped through a straw and attached a reed to her clarinet all at the same time three months ago. But now simply moving marbles needed as much concentration as Derek needed at the shooting range.

Derek half-listened to James as he watched Sammie work through the tasks that would normally be easily accomplished. At the end of her forty-minute session, Derek stood to help her back into her wheelchair. She weighed nothing in his hands. Four weeks in a coma and then bed rest had atrophied her muscles and she'd lost weight to the point of being thinner than Desiree. Sammie's body had gotten so small in so short a time and, since she had been pregnant at the time of the attack, the weight loss was even more noticeable.

"You did great," Derek kissed her forehead when she was safely in her chair. The walk back to her room always seemed to take less time than the walk to the physical therapy and before he knew it they were in her doorway. The first thing Derek saw when he turned the wheelchair to push it into her room was Gary and Colleen Young, Keira's parents, sitting in the chairs by the window. Derek's first instinct was to shield Sammie from the Young's anger over their daughter's death. Keira's death hadn't been Sammie's fault. But when Gary and Colleen stood, they didn't look angry or resentful the way Derek expected.

Sammie gave a strangled attempt at speech when she saw her best friend's parents and Colleen rushed forward towards Sammie. The greying woman dropped to her knees and threw her arms around Sammie.

"Derek, James" Gary shook Derek's hand and Derek immediately noticed how different the man looked from the first and only time Derek had met him. Gary's face had aged ten years since the wedding not quite four months ago and Derek couldn't help but wonder how drastically his own face had changed.

"I'm so glad you're okay, Sweetie girl," Colleen told Sammie, kissing her cheek.

Sammie made another strangled noised, trying to say something, but Derek couldn't understand her and, if Derek couldn't decipher what she met, Gary and Colleen had no chance. Derek and James got out of the way as Sammie, Gary and Colleen visited, giving them space without actually leaving the room.

"_Mi dispiace_."

Derek dropped the cup he held and water spilled across the tile floor.

"It's not your fault, Sweetie."

Colleen didn't understand the significance of those two words and Derek wanted to cry. The first completely intelligible words his wife had spoken in months. And they were 'I'm sorry.'

James stared at his sister, trying hard to ignore the tears in his eyes, but eventually he reached up and wiped them away with the back of his hand. James and Derek exchanged a look, both counting the minutes until the Youngs left. James grabbed Derek's cell phone off the table, walking out of the room to call his mother at work.

The Youngs stayed for half an hour and the second they left, Derek picked Sammie up out of her chair. Before he helped her to her beck, he hugged her close. Sammie held onto his waist while he kissed her. Her legs felt like they were going to give out beneath her after the therapy session and Sammie eagerly moved towards the bed when Derek stepped in that direction.

"I'm so proud of you, Angel. I love you."

Sammie smiled tiredly at him as he helped her into bed and she was asleep within minutes. Derek watched her sleep, higher than the Empire State Building, until Andria rushed in and he left to talk to her just outside the room where he could see Sammie sleeping through the window. Sammie slept through thrilled, ecstatic conversation, completely unaware of the excitement her two simple words had prompted.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

10 January, 2002

Derek couldn't sleep.

Every nerve in his body was in complete sensory overload.

At the end of the bed, Clooney slept sound asleep, splayed out like a pancake and snoring loud enough to wake a bear, and Crookshanks was curled up on the chair he liked in the corner.

Sammie slept, breathing evenly, just a few inches away from him and every sense he possessed was acutely attuned to her presence. It was his first night sleeping next to his wife in exactly eighty-eight days, a fourth of a year, and he knew he wasn't going to actually get any sleep sleeping next to her tonight. Instead, he lay on his side and stared at her, one hand threaded with hers and just watching her chest move up and down rhythmically.

He couldn't believe she was home, that she was lying in bed next to him, sleeping peacefully. He couldn't turn away, absolutely had to keep looking at her or she'd vanish, it would all be some warped figment of his wishful imagination. God forbid he blink and realize she was really still at the hospital. But he had blinked. He'd blinked several times, though, and she was still here, her hand still warm and soft in his.

Clooney stretched, bumping Derek's leg with his paw and Derek let his eyes drift closed for a moment. Sammie sighed and shifted ever so slightly and Derek jerked his eyes open to see her, scared for a moment, but she just shifted away and stilled. She couldn't toss and turn the way she once had, so she fidgeted somewhat instead.

Derek reached out and gently touched some of the scaring on Sammie's face. The skin felt waxy and knotted beneath his fingertips and his index finger dipped into one of the deeper gashed by her mouth. One side of her face was beautiful, smooth and sweet, marred only by the thin scar under her eye. The other was a gnarled tangle of flesh over crushed bone. It was like Beauty and the Beast all on one face.

She would never stop being beautiful to him. He was so glad she was alive, much less sleeping next to him, that he didn't care what she looked like as long as he could hold her hand. She'd terrified a little girl last week, though. Strangers stared at her a little too long, teenagers laughed and pointed and Derek had to resist the urge to step in and protect her. The one time he had, Sammie had gotten angry with him.

Smiling, Derek squeezed her hand and closed his eyes. He breathed deeply and finally found his way to sleep.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

11 January, 2002

Derek pushed Sammie's wheelchair up the ramp, going slow as he tried to weave through teenagers milling around before the game started. Andria walked behind him, her hand on Derek's upper arm and a huge blanket hanging over her arm.

"Over there, Derek," Andria pointed to the wheelchair area at the front of the area between the upper section and lower section of the bleachers. Their family sat right in front of the wheelchair area in their matching blue shirtseys with the number 99 printed under 'Murdoch.' They usually sat on the fifty-yard line in the upper bleachers, but, in honour of Sammie being present, they seated themselves in front of the handicapped section instead.

Getting the chair in the perfect spot, Derek locked the wheels and squatted next to her until he was at eye level with her and asked her how she was. Sammie struggled to say 'cold,' but eventually managed to push the word out as Andria draped the heavy blanket over her.

Derek could feel the stares on them as people noticed Sammie's face and gawked like she was something loose from a freak show. One giggly teenage girl made a rather loud and nasty comment, at which all of her friends started tittering like birds, and Derek straightened, turning around and staring down at them. The girls silenced immediately, turned and ran away as Sammie reach out from under her blanket and pulled on Derek's hand. Looking over, Derek saw the annoyance in her eyes and gave her a sad, apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry," he tugged the toque down on her head a little before sitting down in the Coleman camping chair next to her. "You warm enough?"

Sammie nodded and watched the game playing out on the pitch, which had started a good five minutes ago. Derek held her mitten-clad hand in his gloved one and watched as James dove across the net to wrap his body around the ball before it passed the goalpost. The crowd erupted in cheers and Derek shouted as Harrison and Andrew both patted James' shoulder before getting down the field for the kick.

Scouts in windbreakers with different school's names embroidered across the back walked up and down the sideline with their clipboards and dossiers on the players they'd come to watch. All of them jotted down some note or another after James' save and Derek grinned, clenching his fist happily. The scout from Southern Methodist University spent most of his time in the Bulldog's end watching James.

By half time, Sammie was shaking.

"Okay, Baby Girl, that's enough for tonight," Derek stood as the boys started walking off the field towards the field house to warm up. Sammie shook her head as Derek pulled the blanket off of her and started folding it.

"No," She said, her voice shuddering as her teeth chattered, but otherwise the world came out properly.

"Sammie, you've been out here for forty minutes. We have to get you someplace warm. You're exhausted," Derek handed Andria the blanket and bent down to unlock the wheels of Sammie's chair. "I'm sorry, Angel. It's too cold and too much excitement for one night. You're going to be asleep before we even get home."

"Durk, no." Despite her protest, no one could deny what Derek had said.

"Did you see that – Where are you going?" James had appeared by Derek's side, having darted away from the team for moment.

"Have to take Sammie home, James."

"There's a whole other half, though!" James looked horrified at the thought of them leaving. "You have to stay! The scouts are here and we're playing awesome! Derek! You have to stay for the second half! You can't leave!"

"James, I'm sorry," Derek's voice was firm as he straightened up. "I have to take Sam home. She can't be out here too long."

"This is the most important game of the year!"

"I know. You can tell me about the second afterwards. I'm sorry, James."

"Fine! Just leave!" James turned stormed away before anyone could say anything. Derek sighed, but didn't chase after him the way he would have a few months ago. Instead, he turned Sammie's wheelchair, grabbed the blanket from Andria while giving her a quick hug and slowly pushed the wheelchair over the cold steel of the bleachers, listening to it rattle and clang as they left.

By the time Derek managed to get Sammie out of her chair, into the car and buckled in properly, they could hear the second half starting and Sammie began to cry. With the chair folded and packed away in the trunk with the emergency bag and blanket, Derek got in behind the wheel. Reaching over, he squeezed Sammie's hand.

"There will be other games, Baby Girl. When it's warmer." He leaned over and kissed her forehead. Sammie cried the entire hour-long drive from Riverside to Evanston. Derek held her hand and stayed quiet, silently cursing the decision to buy a house an hour away from her family.

A good-sized layer of snow covered the ramp from the driveway to the house and Derek had to sweep it off before he could even get Sammie out of the car. Sammie's tears had dried by now and she sat staring at her hands, watching her mittens move as she twitched her fingers back and forth.

It took nearly twenty minutes before they were in the house and, once Derek was sure Sammie was settled for the moment, he took Clooney out for a walk. Derek was helping Sammie into her pajamas when a car stopped outside their house, the loud rumbling of the cherry bomb on the muffler made it immediately identifiable. Clooney ran to the door barking happily as it opened, closed and locked again. Crookshanks watched from the top of a bookshelf as Derek simply picked Sammie up and put her into the bed instead of helping her climb into the bed herself. Her limbs were becoming more uncooperative as exhaustion set in.

"I love you." Derek bent over and kissed her, tucking the beeper into her hand as he turned on the CD player with her favourite Gordon Lightfoot CD inside. "I'm going to go talk to James. Press the button if you need _anything_."

Sammie just closed her eyes and turned her head away from him.

Derek closed the bedroom door behind him and Sammie squeezed her eyes as tightly shut as possible. She heard Crookshanks jump from the top of the bookshelf to the dresser, then down to the ground and back up onto the bed, perching on the headboard and sitting there.

_"If you could read my mind, love, what a tale my thoughts could tell. Just like an old time movie 'bout a ghost from a wishin' well."_

Sammie tried to follow along with the lyrics she knew by heart, but she couldn't drag them from the recesses of her brain. She knew this song. She knew she knew this song. But, for all she could recall, she might be hearing it for the first time.

_"As long as I'm a ghost that you can't see. If I could read your mind, love, what a tale your thoughts could tell. Just like a paperback novel, the kind the drugstores sell. When you reach the part where the heartaches come the hero would be–" _

"You could have dropped her off at Grama's house or something! It was the most important game I've ever played!"

"James, I have to take care of Sammie. She comes before a soccer game."

"Grama would have taken care of her for forty-five minutes! It was just forty-five more minutes! She would have been fine!"

"She's my wife, James!"

"And she's my sister! She's been my sister a helluva lot longer than she's been your wife! She didn't want to leave! She would have wanted you to watch the rest of the game even if it meant taking her to Grama's for a while."

"There will be other soccer games, James! Ones where it's warmer and when Sammie's doing better."

_ "A movie queen to play the scene of bringing all the good things out in me. But for now, love, let's be real. I never thought I could act this way and I've got to say that I just don't get it."_

Sammie tried to focus on the lyrics, but she couldn't remember them and not knowing the words made it easy for the fight between Derek and James to command her attention over Gordon Lightfoot.

"I don't care how long she's been my wife. It doesn't matter! She needs me. I have to take care of her, James. She can't take care of herself!"

Surprising herself, she pulled Derek's pillow over easily and covered her face, pushing her hands against her ears and muffling the argument with the cushion of the pillow. The pillow caught her tears and, instead of rolling away, they pooled between her eyes and the yellow pillowcase. The argument lasted for half an hour and, by the time James slammed out of the house, the pillow was soaked.

o o o o

"_Family quarrels are bitter things. They don't go according to any rules. They're not like aches or wounds, they're more like splits in the skin that won't heal because there's not enough material." – F. Scott Fitzgerald_

* * *

**A/N:**

**I'm not apologizing for my long absence. I needed a break. Writing wasn't fun anymore and I needed a break. And, by the way, to those PM-ing me nasty messages about updating, that really isn't the way to make someone want to write. To those who have been wonderful and supportive, thank you. That meant a lot.**

**Love, Thalia**


	39. Chapter 39

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.**

* * *

"_Love is everything it's cracked up to be… it really is worth fighting for, being brave for, risking everything for." – Erica Jong_

o o o o

14 January, 2002

"I'm sorry, Rich, I can't. But thanks for the offer," Derek held the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he counted out a dozen different pills into a paper cup. Checking what he had with the list he knew by heart, he listened to the man in charge of Chicago's undercover operations selling the job he was offering.

"C'mon, Morgan, it's the opportunity of a lifetime. Deep cover, real way to impress the FBI brass. The BAU would really take a liking to it. It's everything you were itchin' for last summer."

"Yeah, I know. It's a dream. But last summer, I had a healthy girlfriend and now I have a handicapped wife. I can't go under cover now. I can't leave Sam," Derek grabbed a glass from the cabinet and filled it with water from the pitcher in the fridge. "It has to be someone else's dream now."

"There's no one else who can take care of her?"

"I'm not leaving my wife alone so I can go under cover, Rich," Derek went out onto the porch and closed the door behind him. "I don't want someone else taking care of my wife. She's more important than the FBI. If she were healthy, it'd be different. But she's not. I can't strive for the FBI anymore. It's not realistic. Not right now. Not while Sam's still so sick."

"You're throwing away your career, Morgan. You could go far and you're throwing it away."

"Well then I'm throwing my career away. Sam's more important."

The phone call ended a few minutes later and Derek went back inside. Putting the phone back in its cradle, he picked up the glass of water and the paper cup with pills and walked through the house to the bedroom where Sammie was lying in bed. Clooney was curled up at her feet. He looked up when Derek walked through the open door, but didn't move except to thump his tail a few times. Sammie didn't react to him coming in the room.

Derek sat down on the bed beside Sammie and put the water down on the nightstand. He smiled down at her, leaning over and kissing for forehead. Sammie turned her head away. Derek fought to keep the smile on his face. He expected these days, knew they were going to happen, but that didn't make it any easier when they did.

"Time to take your medicine, Baby Girl," Derek rattled the paper cup slightly and pulled the blanket down so he could help her sit up to take the pills.

Sammie tried to roll away from him, but couldn't do it easily enough so she lay there listlessly and ignored him. Derek closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Putting the pills down next to the water, he hooked his hands beneath her arms and gently pulled her into a sitting position. Clooney hopped to his feet and circled at the end of the bed as he watched.

"C'mon, Angel. I just need you to take your medicine," Derek picked up the pills again, pouring a few into his hand. He handed her the water, or tried to, but she didn't take it from him. "Please, Sam."

"Go away."

"I can't go away, Sam. You have to take your medicine."

It took thirty minutes for Derek to get Sammie to take the pills, but she finally did. He helped her back down and Sammie ignored him as he pulled the blanket back around her. Derek brushed a kiss to her cheek and left the bedroom.

Clooney turned to watch Derek leave, but decided against following him. Instead, the dog dropped to his belly, crawled up to Sammie's side and under the blanket next to her. He wiggled beneath her arm and snuggled against her side. His wet nose brushed against her face and he gave her a sloppy kiss.

Hugging the dog as tightly as she could get her arms around him, Sammie buried her face in his fluffy neck. Clooney had been patient for a long time, waiting out Sammie's fear of dogs, and now Sammie clung to him, soaking his fur with her tears. The dog was still. He didn't move except to breath, happily letting his girl hold onto him.

Something about the dog was comforting when nothing else was. Sammie let the bristly fur brush her face.

She had heard Derek on the phone. There was no way he had know she could hear, because he never would have had the conversation where she could hear. He was offered his dream job, something he'd strived for and wanted more than anything, and she was the reason he had to turn it down. Her chest constricted and she tried to breath, but everything Derek wasn't able to do because of her was weighing down on her.

Her father killed himself and Derek was there whenever she needed him. She showed up at his door at two in the morning and he took her to the hospital, he arrested Nick and put him in jail. He risked his own career and reputation to testify in court and protect her. He'd fallen in love with her and given her everything. She'd gotten pregnant and he married her; he threw away a chance at his dream for the FBI to stay in Chicago with her. Nick had killed Keira and Ellie, tried to kill her, and Derek had spent months in the hospital taking care of her, burying their daughter and never giving up the hope that she'd come home. He missed James' soccer games, his football games. He missed his sister's graduation from nursing school because of her. He was offered his dreams again and he was too busy taking care of her to go after them.

He'd given her everything and she'd done nothing but take everything away from him.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

27 January, 2002

"Don't talk you!" The words didn't come out properly. They were garbled and instead of 'talk' she accidently said 'sit,' but he understood what she was trying to say. The aphasia made it particularly difficult as she began to speak more. She knew exactly what she wanted to say, but instead of 'I don't want to talk to you,' the words would come out 'don't talk you.'

In some ways, it was looking like she was lucky. Lucky for someone with aphasia, anyways. She didn't spout off at random or start counting aloud for no reason. But sometimes words she used a minute ago slipped away and were lost, she'd switch words like 'talk' and 'sit' and she could only use nouns and verbs. But, if she took her time and people were patient, she could usually get her point across.

Now, however, the aphasia was just being aggravated by her anxiety and distress and Derek was having trouble calming her down.

"Sammie," Derek reached out to her, but she jerked back and fell off the plastic chair she usually used for physical therapy and onto the wood floor of their living room. "Sam!"

"No!" Sammie tried to push him away, but she couldn't get her arms up and sit up at the same time and Derek swooped in without any resistance. He picked her up and sat down on the couch with her in his lap and his arms around her tightly. "Go me."

"No, Baby Girl. We're talking about this, Sam." Derek kissed her forehead. "I know you're having a bad day. I know and I understand."

She hit his chest and kept trying to get out of his arms. Derek clenched his jaws and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to keep his temper. The doctor said she would be different. The doctor said there would be these days. The past nine days had been this way and Derek's patience was puttering along on a single spare tire. The doctor also said not to reward bad behaviour.

"Sam. Pump your breaks." Derek kept his voice firm. "You can't hit me, Sammie. You have to stop."

"Lehh-leee-et go me."

"Not until you calm down." Derek reached up and wiped tears away from her eyes. Sammie started hyperventilating; Derek pulled her against his chest and rocked her back and forth, whispering soothingly. He ran his fingers through her short hair, something that had always calmed her before, and his fingertips traced over the long, jagged scar zigzagging its way across her skull.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

31 January, 2002

Derek sat on the ground next to the small marble plaque nestled in the brown grass. It had been covered in a small layer of snow when he got there, but he had brushed it off easily. An intricate cross was carved on one side. 'Elaine Madison Morgan' and a single date, '15 October 2001,' sat atop a verse carved in script.

_ "Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God." Matthew 5:8_

Looking down at the single pink rose he'd gotten from Aunt Paola's flower shop, he felt the guilt fill him the way it always did when he thought of his daughter.

"I'm sorry, Ellie. I wanted to give you everything, but I couldn't give you anything. I couldn't even give you life." Derek looked over at the gravestone. "I'm sorry I never held you. I wanted to. I wanted to hold you so badly, Ellie. I was – I was scared. God, I would have made such a terrible dad. Dads aren't supposed to be scared and I was terrified just to hold you. I was so afraid of hurting you. And I knew if I held you – Ellie, I'd never have been able to let you go."

Derek carefully placed the pink rose on Ellie's gravestone.

She deserved so much more.

"I wanted you, Ellie. I wanted you more than I've ever wanted anything. You weren't exactly planned. Heh, surprise of a lifetime was more like it. But you – Ellie, I wanted you so badly. I wanted to be your dad. I wanted to…" Derek dropped his head. "I love you, Ellie. I love you so much. I had so many dreams about you, about us, being your dad. Taking you to Girl Scouts and – and preschool, bike rides and school dances, threatening any guy who's smart enough to fall in love with you."

"She knows, Derek." Father Berlusconi sat next to him and Derek jumped. He was so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn't heard the priest's snow crunching footsteps coming up behind him. "She's up there being taken care of by God and her _nonno_. Your Elaine's up there watching you and Samantha, watching over you two. It's not a surprise Samantha woke up. God knows what he's doing, Derek, even when we don't. Samantha coming out of her coma was a medical miracle, but for Him it took less time than snapping His fingers."

"Do you – do you ever get mad at God?" Derek felt guilty asking the question.

"Do I ever get mad at God?" Father Berlusconi tested the question on his lips. He weighed his answer for a long time before speaking. "A priest isn't supposed to get mad at God. He's supposed to trust in God's plan always. He's supposed to know that God is always working for the good of His plan.

"Yes, I get angry with God. When I got the phone call that Nick had killed Keira and that Samantha was in the hospital, I'd never been so angry with God. Keira was so young and talented and she had her whole life ahead of her. And Samantha's life had already been so full of pain and horrible things. She's already been through so much, why would God put her through more just when she's starting fresh?

"And why would He do that to you? He gives you everything anyone ever wants – a beautiful wife you love and a daughter on the way – and then He takes it away from you before you even get a chance. You've been through so much, Derek. I can see it in your eyes. You don't trust anyone but yourself. You've built walls to protect yourself and, for whatever reason, you let Samantha in. She's changed you as much as you've changed her. But you still don't trust."

"I trust Sam." Derek could barely hear his own voice.

"No, you don't."

"I trust Sammie." The words were more insistent this time.

"If you trusted Samantha, you would have told her whatever it was that happened to put those walls up in your eyes."

The cold wind was the only noise that broke the silence after that. Derek stared at Ellie's name and let Father Berlusconi's words settled uncomfortably in his chest. He hadn't told her about Carl Buford. He'd told James, but he'd only partially told James. James had no idea to what extent Derek had been abused.

He should have told Sammie, but there was no way he could tell her now. Not right now, not with everything going on. She needed him to be strong, not spring a new mess on her when they were still trying to learn to deal with the one they were in right now.

But he would tell her. Eventually. Just not now.

"How am I supposed to tell Sammie that I'm not the man she thinks I am?"

"She knows the man you are, Derek. The reason you are the man you are doesn't change _who_ you are." Father Berlusconi put a hand on Derek's forearm. "You are the man she thinks you are, Derek."

Derek thinned his lips. He wanted to believe that, but the doubt branded into his mind when he was a teenager refused to budge.

He wasn't a man. What kind of man was too afraid to run from a man who was raping him? What kind of man couldn't protect himself? What kind of man couldn't protect his wife and daughter? What kind of man couldn't keep the promises he made?

No, Derek wasn't a man and he couldn't pretend that he was.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

3 February, 2002

Derek bent over and kissed Sammie, but she didn't respond.

"C'mon, Sammie. Smile for me. Please?" His heart fell when she closed her eyes and ignored him. "I'm going to work, Baby Girl. I love you so much, Sam."

Andria smiled weakly at him when he passed her to leave the bedroom where Sammie was sitting in the club chair in the window watching the snow fall on the swing set in the backyard. Derek whistled for Clooney and the dog came running from the kitchen to meet him by the table by the door. Turning the key in the door's drawer, he pulled out the gun, the magazine and his holster. He got Clooney into his holster and checked his bag before kissing his mother-in-law on the cheek.

"It'll get better, Derek," Andria hugged him.

"I know, Mama. It's just… hard. I miss her."

"I know. I miss her too. You be safe, okay?"

"I will. I'll be home at six."

When Derek and Clooney had left, Andria locked the door behind them and padded quietly back to the bedroom. She sat in the chair across from her daughter and picked up the book she was reading.

"Want go home."

"You are home, Sweetie," Andria didn't look up from her book. She had no intention of treating Sammie any different than she had her entire life, disabled or not.

"Leave."

"No, I'm not leaving, Samantha."

"Me leave," Sammie focused hard on her words, trying to correct what she'd just said, and her mother looked up.

"You can't leave and go home at the same time. If you leave, you won't be home anymore."

"Me leave. Me home you." The words were slow and careful and Sammie's eyes never left the backyard.

"Samantha, we're not having this conversation again."

"Want leave. Want home."

"Samantha, this is your home now. He's your husband and he loves you very much. He's your home." Andria looked down again and turned the page as Sammie struggled to find the right words to say what she wanted.

"I… I need go home. I need leave." Sammie turned her head towards her mother.

"Why do you need to leave?"

"Hol – I hold back." Her opened and closed a few times as she searched for words. "I hold him back."

"You want to leave him because you hold him back?" Andria's eyebrows knit together and she lowered her book to her lap.

"I hold back. All me. All time." Tears welled in Sammie's eyes and her hands started shaking. "Always me."

"Sweetie, you're not holding him back. You're his wife. He takes care of you. That's what a husband's supposed to do."

"Can't underblanket. Can't BFI… FDI…FEI… F-F-F." Tears fell and Sammie tried to reach up and wipe them away but her hands were shaking. Andria didn't get up. Sammie needed to do this one for herself. " Can't F-B-I. Can't leave. Can't do. Can't go. Can't – can't dream."

"Undercover?" Andria clarified and Sammie nodded. "He got a job offer undercover and had to turn it down."

"Because me. All me. No dream."

"Samantha, you want to leave him so he can dream? Samantha, Sweetie, people get new dreams. Maybe that one's gone. Maybe. But he has you," Andria put the book down and stood, kneeling in front of Sammie's chair and taking her hands. "I saw him in the hospital, Sweetie. When he thought you were gone, when he thought he'd never bring you home. He was so lost. Destroyed. The thought of losing you destroyed him, Samantha. He loves you. He loves you so much more than any dream he had of the FBI. You're his dream."

o o o o

"_Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life… You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should just be friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just the imagination. Not just the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love." – Neil Gaiman_

* * *

**A/N:**

**Tonight was the best CM episode in ages, though I am getting a little tired of _always_ knowing who the unsub is. And last night's NCIS, omg, I cried so hard. I loved it. It was so unbelievably perfect.**

**Hockey's... well, hockey's going. We're winning games right now that we really have no business winning. Basically our goalers Lu and Schneids are stealing us games. Honestly, the fact that we have a winning record over the past 10 games in 100% proof that there is absolutely no justice in this world. I finally got my Sami Salo shirtsey in the mail today and I'm like, "SOFUIWEBPF:NWEFJHWEUFYQ:" Honestly, that's the only way to describe my excitement. I've wanted one for so long. Now, if they made Salo hoodies, oh sweet and glorious God, that would be the best day of my life. But Sami's not cool enough. Lame. I also got my Mindcheck[dot]ca shirt today.**

**I told ya'll about Ryp a long time ago - back in August - so I'm pretty sure none of you remember except for Jen. Rick Rypien (Ryp) was a hockey player for my team that passed away on 15 August. He was with our team for 6 years and, while I won't dishonour his memory by claiming he was my favourite player when he wasn't, I loved him quite a bit. I love him the way I love all my hockey boys, but more than most because he'd been part of my hockey family for so long. For a decade, he battled depression and it finally won when he committed suicide. No one outside of the Canucks and his family knew about his struggles, but before his suicide he had plans to try and help people going through what he was going through. Now, in his memory, the Canucks are continuing the work he wanted to start. They opened a website in his memory called Mindcheck. Mindcheck is designed to help people identify and educate themselves about mental health issues and provide help to those who need it. The website is amazing. As someone who's life has been absolutely destroyed by mental illnesses, I am so proud and touched and just absolutely blown away by what my favourite hockey team is doing in honour of Ryp and for something that's so incredibly close to my heart. I honestly can't explain the emotion it gives me. I don't have the words. I know they're just a hockey team, but for such a long time they were the only thing keeping me semi-sane. After my dad died, the Canucks and my fanfiction were the only things I had. And to see the Canucks doing this - I can't explain what it means to me.**

**If you need help with mental health issues or know someone who does, check out the website. Mindcheck[dot]ca. Educate yourself. Mental health problems aren't something to be ashamed of and they aren't going away. We can't brush them under the rug and be embarrassed to talk about them. They don't go away on their own. These problems need to be talked about, they need to be exposed and accepted as a problem instead of a weakness. **

_**"I am the friend of somebody who experienced depression. I know it isn't a choice. It's not a weakness, self-inflicted, or a result of not trying. Sometimes you just can't get over it - it won't just go away. Pretending it isn't happening doesn't help; talking about it does. Getting support early can make the difference. Helping someone we care about is not a burden. I pledge to learn the signs. I will not judge. I will have compassion. I will reach out, listen, talk, help, and find help. My name is Thalia Gratiae, I will not stay silent."**_

**Love, Thalia**


	40. Chapter 40

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.**

* * *

"_Love doesn't hide. It stays and fights. It goes the distance, that's why love is so strong. So it can carry you all the way home." – Author Unknown _

o o o o

14 February, 2002

Derek sat at his desk in the bullpen, the one he shared with another bomb squad agent, and poured over the pages in front of him. Nick Farese's mugshot stared back at him from the corner page. On a map of the New York, he made a note of where Nick's second cousin lived. He wasn't sure if he was going about this investigation the right way, but it was the only way he knew how to go about a cold case he wasn't allowed to be working in the first place.

He put a note next to that cousin. The cousin in question, Joseph Cozza, was suspected of having significant ties to the mob in New York. He was suspected of being a hitman, but there was no concrete evidence to arrest him. And Derek assumed that, even when they had evidence to prove their suspicions, Joseph would be left along and used by an undercover to get deeper into the mob.

Derek couldn't see everything they had on Joseph, he could barely see anything, but he jotted down what his clearance showed and ran his hand over his eyes. He would get man who blew his life apart, killed his daughter and destroyed his wife. Derek didn't care how long it took, how much work it took; he would find Nick Farese.

As he glanced at Nick's mugshot again, Derek knew that, if given the chance, he'd kill the man without so much as a blink.

"Any big, romantic plans for your girl when you get home?" Mark dropped a greasy bag of Mexican food on the desk He sat down and leaned back in the chair across from Derek and stretched his arms out before locking them behind his head.

"You mean besides checking to see if she'll talk to me?" Derek rolled his eyes, closing the files and stacking them. He wasn't fooling Mark. Mark knew exactly what was in those files. "No. I got her flowers and I'm gonna make her favourite dinner, but we're a while away from doing anything romantic."

"How's she doing?" Mark's question was serious this time as he fished the food out of the bag. Four burritos, a mountain of chips and a few tubs of queso and salsa.

"Some days are better than other. Overall she's progressing," Derek tossed a tennis ball for Clooney as he took one of the burritos Mark offered. Night shifts could be very quiet sometimes. "Watched a movie last night and she managed to sit through all of it. Fell asleep before the end, but she used to do that all the time anyways."

"You sound happy."

"I am happy. She's home, how could I not be? Any plans with Andrea?"

"This weekend. Dropping the kids off at my mom's and going out. Dinner, dancing. Well, she'll be dancing, I'll be trying not to break her feet."

"I've seen you dance," Derek laughed, taking a big bite of his burrito. "That ain't a pretty picture."

"You're tellin me. My senior year of high school, I twisted my ankle dancing at the prom."

"I'd believe that," Derek took the ball from Clooney and threw it again. Clooney chased after it as the ball bounced down the hallway.

"You'd never think _Thriller_ could cause so much damage," Mark held up his hands in claws, first on one side and then on the other. Derek laughed.

"Michael Jackson caused a lot of casualties in my house," Derek thought back with a grin. "I broke my mama's favourite lamp trying to learn how to moonwalk. I don't think she ever forgave me for that."

"You ever moonwalk?"

Derek didn't answer. He stood and moonwalked across the room, before ending in one of Michael Jackson's signature spins, complete with pelvic thrust and facial expression. "I was a black kid in Chicago in the eighties. What do you think?"

They shared an easy laugh as Derek plopped down into his seat.

"I can't wait to get home to Andrea. There's a steak in the fridge with my name on it." Just as Mark was propping his feet up on the desk, the lead on their team came into the room with heavy, fast footsteps.

"Let's go."

"Where're we going?"

ooo ooo ooo ooo

Sammie lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling and trying to shift through the thoughts flooding her head. The sheets felt scratchy, like someone had skimped on the fabric softener. The clock in the corner glowed red and Sammie tapped her fingers on the mattress one at a time. Thumb, index, middle, ring, pinkie. Then the other set. Pinkie, ring, middle, index, thumb.

Why couldn't her toes move that way? She could move her big toe, but the other four moved together. Was it always like that? Or was that because of Nick? She couldn't remember. Her toes had never really mattered. They'd always been there, but she'd never thought about them. If she could tap time to a metronome, they were functional and of no other consequence.

Her fingers, though. Her fingers were important. Her fingers held the instruments and, thus, her happiness, escape from the reality of whichever hell she'd been in at the time. Now, she was just lucky to be able to move a marble from one bowl to the other. There would be no more music in her life, no more escape from the prison of her body.

Sammie closed her eyes and let herself imagine the feel of the piano keys below her fingertips. What she wouldn't give to have her life back.

She opened her eyes again and looked up at the ceiling counting the tiles and then, when all twenty-six tiles were accounted for, she counting the pock holes in the tiles. The bedroom door was cracked open and she could hear Anthony's muted voice talking into the phone.

"Take the carburettor off the Nissan and put the transmission that came in this morning in the Chevy in the corner. Dump the Nissan's carburettor, it's toast. Joe's bringing a new one's in tonight. Naw, naw. I'm not coming in tonight. I've got my cousin."

_ I've got my cousin._

Sammie rolled over as best she could, ending in an awkward slump half on her side and half on her stomach, and looked out the window. She'd become the family burden, passed from one person to the next so she was never alone. Anthony pulled the short straw tonight. At least Anthony was on her side when no one else was. He actually listened and did what she wanted when no one else would, when everyone else just told her it would be okay.

"Family's family. Kenny, shawdup and just do what I fucking told you to. I'll be in tomorrow and I better now find out you fucked something up."

Sammie dragged her eyes away from the window and to the hand lying in front of her. Her vein stood out against her forearm and she studied it. A quick slice with the kitchen knife and it'd be over in a matter of minutes. She wouldn't be trapped in this useless body any more, she would have to struggle for every word she said. No more looks of pity. No more burdening her family. No more holding Derek back. They'd be free.

_She'd_ be free. Free to be with Grampa and Ellie. Once slice, a few minutes of pain and then freedom.

No. Cutting her wrists would be too messy. She couldn't do that to her family. She couldn't leave her mother with that bloody mess again. She couldn't leave Derek to clean up more Murdoch blood. No, that wasn't the way out.

The mountain of prescription pills in the tub on the nightstand caught her eye. The typed instructions had been laminated and placed beside them. Someone could easily get confused and take the wrong pills or take too many. It'd be an accident. She'd have one of her fits, loose her head and take too many. A tragic accident.

An awful accidental end to a terrible tragedy.

But they'd move on. They'd grieve the loss of them girl they'd already lost, but, in the end, they'd move on, realize it was for the best, really. At least she wasn't suffering anymore. Yes, they'd realize her death, however tragic, was really for the best.

And she'd be free.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

15 February, 2002

His ears were still ringing and the hard, plastic chair felt oddly lopsided beneath him. Or maybe that was the floor. Derek put his head between his knees and his equilibrium jolted again. Only his left ear was ringing. His right was quiet. Eerily quiet.

_"All clear!" Derek shouted as he handed the disabled bomb to Mark. Clooney trotted up from where he'd been told to sit. Cold nose pressed against Derek's cheek and Derek ran a hand over the dog's head._

His hands shook as he threaded them together over the back of his neck. He took a deep breath, trying to settle himself. Tacky blood transferred itself from his hands to his neck, but what was a little bit more when he was already patch-worked with the coagulating fluids? Derek blinked, opening his eyes to focus on the white tiles beneath his feet, but they swam in front of his eyes, first one way than the other.

_Mark laughed out loud at the stupid quip their lead made as they packed their equipment up. The bomb at the gas station had been crude, amateurish, and placed where it could easily be seen. Some idiot punk kid seeing how badass he could be. Derek whistled for Clooney, but the dog didn't come._

Water. He needed water. Derek braced his hands on his knees and made an ill-fated attempt to stand before he lost his balance and nearly face planted. An orderly caught him and helped him back into the seat.

"You _need_ medical attention, officer."

"No," Derek shrugged away the orderly's attention.

_"Clooney!" Derek shouted the dog's name into the night, but the dog didn't come. Instead, he started barking. "Goddamned dumb dog. Clooney!" Going back, Derek searched for the dog and found him sitting in front of the waist-high shed that stored the cleanup materials in case of a gas spill._

How could Mark be dead? They'd been eating burritos together three hours ago. Half his burrito was sitting in the fridge. Mark couldn't be dead. Mark had been so alive an hour ago, laughing and joking. How could he be dead?

_Derek couldn't move from his prone position on the asphalt, his face raw and bleeding from the impact, his palms scrapped free of the first few layers of skin. His ears were ringing and blood was pooling by his temple. Clooney whined feebily nearby and Derek tried to move, but everything was spinning._

_ The ground shook again as the last pump exploded and Derek felt the heat of the fire burn over his back. Sirens blared towards them – or was that the ringing in his ears getting louder? Clooney whined again._

Guilt saturated through him. He should be at the hospital with Mark's body, he should be there for Andrea, something. Instead, he sat Chicago Veterinary Emergency and Specialty Centre. He hadn't even been treated himself yet, except for a few temporary stitches the EMT had put in during the ambulance ride.

_"C'mon, Cloon. Hold on," Derek stroked the dog's head shakily, his vision blurry and agonizing pain of the EMT stitching thread through the skin of his forehead, knitting together the gapping wound where his head had met a cement parking block when the blast from the shed blew him through the air._

_ Clooney whined and licked Derek's hand as a second EMT was trying to stopper the blood seeping out of his left haunch. "You're gonna be okay, Boy. You're gonna be okay. You _have_ to be okay."_

"Officer Morgan?" Derek looked up, or tried to, but it was hard to focus his eyes on the man in scrubs. "Have you seen a doctor yet?"

"How's my dog?"

"He lost a lot of blood and we had to amputate his left leg, but he's doing all right right now. We're going to watch him though, at least through the next twenty-four hours. You need to get to the hospital. I'm going to call a cruiser to take you there."

"I wanna see my dog. I need to see him."

"Clooney's sedated right now."

"I don't care, I need to see him." Derek pushed himself up and, if the doctor hadn't been there, he would have collapsed onto the tile floor.

"You can't even walk. I can't let you back there."

"That's my dog! He saved – he saved my life. I have to see him." Derek's voice broke as Carlos Santoya from patrol hurried up into the waiting room.

"Where the hell have you been? People have been looking for you all over. Damnit, Morgan! Why aren't you in the fucking hospital? We thought we'd lost you!"

_Uniforms poured out of ambulances, fire trucks and squad cars. Derek tried to focus his eyes, his gaze landing on someone pausing to look back as he rounded the corner. His hair was black and curly and the pushed up sleeve of his hoodie showed part of a tattoo on his forearm._

"Farese was there."

"What?"

"I saw him leaving."

"No way. We found the guy, Morgan. He died when the gas tank exploded."

"That wasn't the guy!" The ringing in his ear reached a new decibel. "It must have been a decoy. Maybe he was there on accident, I dunno, but I saw that son of a bitch walk away!"

"Why would Farese blow up a gas station? How the hell would Farese know how to blow up a gas station?"

"How the fuck am I supposed to know? He must have known I was going to be there!"

"So he's trying to kill you?"

"He tried to kill my wife. He killed Keira! He killed my daughter!"

_"I'll kill you, Samantha Murdoch! I'll fucking kill you if it's the last thing I do!"_

Two years and Derek could hear the words Nick Farese had shouted as he was being dragged out of the courtroom as if the scene were happening that very second. Despite the ringing in his ear, the pounding in his head and his dangerously off-kilter equilibrium, Derek could hear Farese's words over everything, see and feel the murderous glare he'd sent at Derek.

"It was him. I know it was him, Carlos."

o o o o

Derek vaguely listened as the doctor gave his mother a list of instructions as he pushed Derek's wheelchair towards the front of the hospital. He could hear the voices, but the ringing and the pounding made it difficult for him to focus on deciphering the actual words. He just wanted to go home. He wanted to go back to the veterinary hospital and pick up Clooney, but Clooney couldn't go home for a few more days. Since he couldn't bring Clooney home, he at least wanted to go home and see Sam's sleeping face before falling asleep himself.

The morphine and whatever other drugs they'd pushed through his system were making him sleepy. His head drooped and Fran gave considerable help transferring him from the wheelchair to her car. Derek fell asleep on the drive from the hospital to his house.

"Derek… Baby boy, wake up. Let's get you inside and you can sleep, baby boy."

The sun broke over the top of the house. His feet felt like lead as he leaned on his mother to help him up the steps and through the door. Crookshanks hurried up and twisted around his feet, mewling pitifully for attention. Fran pushed open the door to the guest room, but Derek shook his head, half asleep.

"I need to see Sam."

Fran started to argue, but Derek insisted and moved towards the farthest door. Twisting the doorknob and pushing the door open, Derek's gaze stopped on an empty, neatly made bed and felt panic rise to the back of throat.

"Sam?" His voice sounded strange and drugged to his ears. "Where's Tony? Sam!"

Derek pushed away from his mother and stumbled into the bedroom towards the bathroom, throwing the door open and checking the bathroom and the closet.

"Samantha!"

He pounded through the house, throwing doors open and shouting her name into the silence. The guestroom and music room were empty. The nursery was untouched. The kitchen, dining room and living room hadn't changed. Derek staggered back into the hallway as his mom stepped out of the bedroom with something in her hands.

"Derek. This was on the nightstand."

Fran held out a white envelope with his name written across it in Sammie's newly messy, shaky scribble. It must have taken her ten minutes to write his name. Derek felt his stomach drop and leaned against the wall, not wanting to take the envelope from his mother.

"No. No, no."

o o o o

"_If you love something, set it free; if it comes back, it's yours; if it doesn't, it never was." – Richard Bach_

* * *

**A/N:**

**Thanks for sticking with me, guys. It's been a rough writing patch this past while. I'm trying to work through it.**

**I hope you liked it, I hope it was worth the wait (bleh!) and please, tell me what you think, good or bad.**

**Love, Thalia**


	41. Chapter 41

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.**

* * *

"_To spare oneself from grief at all cost can be achieved only at the price of total detachment, which excludes the ability to experience happiness."_

– _Erich Fromm_

o o o o

15 February, 2002

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Derek pounded on the door and it reverberated through his skull. His headache was building every second and he was sure his brain was trying to beat it's way out of the back of his skull. The sun was beginning to rise. Derek pounded on the door again.

"ANDRIA! OPEN THE DOOR!"

A light upstairs flipped on, then a second one.

"OPEN THE DOOR, ANDRIA!"

He kept pounding on the door until the foyer light flipped on and the front door swung open, Andria standing there in a blue flannel nightgown with James right behind her in shorts and a faded grey t-shirt.

"What the hell's going on?" Derek asked before Andria or James could speak. "Where's Sam?"

"What do you mean 'Where's Sam?'" Andria asked, wide-eyed and confused. "She's at home with Anthony. Derek, you're bleeding!"

"She's not at home. I got home and found this," Derek shoved the envelope into her hands as he pushed passed her and strode towards the stairs, taking them two at a time and threw the door to Sammie's bedroom open. "Samantha?"

A second car pulled up, parking behind Derek's Kawasaki, and Fran stepped out, slamming the door shut and running up the steps. "He just took off," she gasped as she came to a stop next to Andria. "He opened the envelope and took off! He wasn't even wearing his helmet! He's got a concussion and he just – oh my God."

"Mary, Mother of God. What have you done, Samantha?" Andria made the sign of the cross and held the papers from the envelope out for Fran.

"Divorce papers?" Fran's mouth fell open and she scanned the words, flipping the pages. "She's already signed them!"

"I'm going to Tony's," Derek said, thundering down the steps.

"I'm coming with you," Andria said, but Derek was already out the door and heading for his bike.

"Derek! You shouldn't be driving!" Fran shouted as he swung his leg over the bike and revved the engine. He took off before anyone could say anything else. "Shit! The idiot's going to kill himself!"

Within ten minutes, Derek was pounding his fist against the door to Anthony's apartment, shouting Sammie's name and for Anthony to open the door. The door opened slightly, constrained by the security chain, and Derek tried to push his way past Anthony and yank the chain from the wall, but the other man stood his ground, blocking the way into his apartment.

"She doesn't want to see you," Anthony spat.

"She's my wife!"

"What's going on over there?" An elderly lady with graying hair stuck her head out her door and stared at them. "Don't you know it's four in the morning?"

"It's nothing, Mrs. Mancini. Go back to bed," Anthony told her and Mrs. Mancini closed the door warily, but didn't go back to bed. She pulled the side of the curtain back and peeked out of the window. "Fucking _boccalone_, can't mind her own Goddamned business."

"Let me see her," Derek pressed on the door again.

"No. Go home, Morgan. She doesn't want to see you."

"I can charge you with kidnapping, Zambrotta."

"Like hell you can. She _wanted_ to leave," Anthony snarled at him, his hate etched on every inch of his face. "It's not kidnapping if she's the one who asks to leave."

"Damnit, she's my wife! I have to see her!" Derek shook with anger, ready to reach through the gap between door and doorframe and grab Anthony around the neck. "You did this! You've always hated me. You put this in her head."

"You forced her to marry you, damn right I hate you. You wormed your way into her life like a snake when she was vulnerable and then you went and got her pregnant. She doesn't need you and your manipulation! You have no place in this family. You used her. You're no better than Nick. You're just –"

"I'm _nothing_ like Farese!" Derek returned Anthony's snarl. "I'm _nothing_ like him. You don't know anything about me. I love her, I've never manipulated her. But you! You sure did. She's unstable, her brain isn't healed and she's hostile and you played right into that to get her away from me. You put this idea in her head."

"No," Anthony denied, a smile playing across his lips. "No, I didn't put it in her head. But I sure didn't discourage it."

He slammed the door shut in Derek's face.

"DAMNIT, ZAMBROTTA! OPEN THIS GODDAMNED DOOR! WE'RE NOT DONE HERE!" Derek pounded on the door again and Mrs. Mancini poked her head out of her door again.

"Young man, I'm going to call the police if you don't leave right now."

"I _am _the police, lady," Derek spat in a tone that would have made his mother smack him. "Zambrotta! Open the fucking door!"

"I've got a gun!"

"Shut up, you nosey bat!" Derek wheeled on her. "I'm a goddamned cop and I'm trying to get my wife, who's locked in there! Go back inside and mind your own business!"

"You don't look like a cop and no one's gone in there except for Tony's cousin. So just go away before I call the police!"

"His cousin _is_ my wife! Fucking hell, lady. Call the police, I don't give a shit! Tell them I said 'hi!'" Derek turned around and bashed on the door again. "Zambrotta! Let me see Sam!"

Mrs. Mancini's door slammed shut and five minutes later police sirens sounded, driving in their direction. The cruiser pulled into the lot and parked next to Derek's bike. Carlos and Sean climbed the stairs and stopped when they saw him.

"Morgan, what are you doing?"

"Sam's in there and she won't come out." Derek explained as Carlos stepped past him and knocked on the door.

"Police."

Anthony cracked the door again. "Can you get him to leave? He's waking up all my neighbours!"

"Is Samantha Morgan in there?"

"She _was_ asleep before he started trying to break down my door," Anthony told them, glaring at Derek.

"Can we see her?"

"No. She's exhausted. She needs to sleep."

"Tony?" A female voice gargled out the name and everyone fell silent. Anthony closed the door and padded back to the bedroom.

"What is it, Sam?"

"Make leave."

"I'm trying, Sam. The asshole won't go away."

"Deeee-Derrk good," Sammie whispered, tears leaking from her eyes. "Good. Me bad."

"You're not bad, Sam. You're not."

"Make leave."

"I will. Try and sleep." Anthony tugged the covers up around her and closed the door behind him. When he opened the front door again, Derek, Carlos and Sean were still there and Mrs. Mancini was peeping through her curtain. "She wants you to leave. I haven't done anything wrong. Goodbye."

The door closed in their faces and Derek groaned.

"Go home, Morgan. It'll be alright." Carlos put a hand on his shoulder. "It's been a helluva day. You need to sleep. Sam'll come around in a day or two."

"I'm just gonna stay here and wait."

"I can't let you stay here, Morgan. I'm sorry. Let us take you home."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

Derek never fell asleep. He lay back in bed, staring at the ceiling and thinking about Sammie, thinking about Anthony and what he must have done or said to get Sammie to leave him, how long Anthony had been planting this idea in Sammie's mind, why he hadn't noticed it, suspected. Crookshanks sat primly on the pillow next to him, making sure he didn't leave. After an hour, he sat up and looked at the envelope sitting on the end table next to him.

Fran was in the guest room, having driven back to the house after Derek drove off. She had brought the envelope back with her and now Derek pulled the papers out and unfolded them, reading them through again, more carefully than he had the first time. Sammie had filed for a no-fault divorce and the papers went on to say that Sammie wanted nothing, just out.

Sammie's signature was shaky, but there and notarized. Beneath hers was a line for him to sign. Like hell he was signing that. Flipping through the pages, he looked for the judge who'd authorized the papers. He'd never been served the original petition papers. He'd never heard any of this before and these were official divorce papers. This was final divorce papers. If he signed them, they were officially divorced. How had she gotten ahold of these without petitioning first?

Judge Roberto Lombardi. His brother had been arrested earlier that year for his connections to the De Nicola mob, the same connections that Anthony was suspected to have, though Anthony's involved less bodies being disposed of via the Chicago River and Lake Michigan.

"Fuck," Derek leaned his head back, hitting the back of his head against the wall. "Crookshanks, I'm screwed. He's going to give her whatever the hell Anthony tells her she wants no matter what I do. How could this happen? Dammit, everything's so… shit. Everything's gone to shit. Fuck!" Crookshanks hissed at him and Derek nodded. "I couldn't have said it better myself."

Derek closed his eyes and let himself wander back into his memory. Walks in the park with Sammie, sitting on the couch watching _The Godfather_, cheering at the Blackhawks game. Times when they were happy, when everything was less complicated… not that their relationship had ever been anything but complicated.

How'd he let this happen? How'd he let himself fall so in love with her when he knew he shouldn't? He should never have let their relationship become romantic. This was all his fault.

"Why, God?" Derek looked up at the ceiling. "Why? What did I do to deserve this? Why Samantha? She's an angel and you let this happen to her. I don't understand. I never understand. I never understand. She doesn't deserve anything that's happened to her. And I… I never deserved her. But why… why did you let me have her? Why did you let me have her just so you could take her away? I love her. I don't understand.

"She loved me – I think she still does, that the part that loves me is trapped inside her head somewhere and she just can't find it. But it's still there. And she's running anyways. Why is she running? What can I do to get her back? I – I need her, God. She's my entire life. I love her so much and I – I need her. I don't deserve her, but I need her anyways."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

Sammie buried her face in the pillow, sobbing hard enough to shake the entire bed. This was best. It hurt, but it was best. It was the right thing to do, no matter how much she loved him, no matter how much she needed him. He was better off without her.

"Why, God?" Her thoughts filtered through her head, unhindered by her speech. "Why did you give him to me just to take him away? Why did you let me be happy? Everything was better before I knew what it was like to be happy. I didn't expect anything. I didn't have anything to miss. I don't understand. I don't understand why you let me have him and Ellie just to take them away.

"I love him so much and for some crazy reason he loves me, I think he loves me, and I still can't have him. He loved me even with Dad and Nick and everything wrong with me and… and he still loved me. Why did he love me? Why did you let me fall in love with the one man I don't deserve? Why'd you bring him to the house that day? I wish I'd never met him. I wish you hadn't done any of this."

o o o o

"_I don't think I can live without you and I don't think I ever will." – Elvis Costello_

* * *

**A/N:**

**I know this chapter is about 1000 words shorter than they usually are, but this felt like the right ending place and I didn't want to force something just to have a higher word count. So deal with it. P=**

**Oh. My. God. Criminal Minds was so good last night. Though, I nearly had to have Britt drive me to the hospital to have my heart checked because I totally nearly died. THEY REFERENCED SEASON FOUR AND HOTCH'S EAR AND I SPAZZED OUT. And then Calliope's name was literally IN LIGHTS and I spazzed out. Ugh. I just loved it.**

**And HOLY MOTHER OF ALL CLIFFHANGERS, BATMAN! NCIS writers are all asshole bastards. How dare they do that to me. HOW DARE THEY. But it was so, so, so good. God, I love NCIS.**

**I was hanging in Indiana with Britt and it was awesome and now I'm in Michigan with Jen and that's awesome. Saturday I go up to Canada and see my baby cousin Christina and then come back through Michigan to see Jen again and then down through Indiana to see Britt again and then I get to drive two days back down to the motherland. But right now I'm with Jen and she's on her computer and I'm on my computer and we're so compatible it's ridiculous. But I should totally get off the computer and be sociable. Or I should not. I dunno. Ugh. I love my girls. XOXO**

**Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it and, please, tell me what you think!**

**Love, Thalia**


	42. Chapter 42

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.**

* * *

"_When you get just a complete sense of blackness or void ahead of you, that somehow the future looks an impossible place to be, and the direction you are going seems to have no purpose, there is this word despair which is a very awful thing to feel." – Stephen Fry_

o o o o

1 March 2002

The next two weeks were the worst sort of living hell that Derek had ever known. Every day, he went to see her. He sat outside Anthony's apartment for varying lengths of time. He'd ring the doorbell once, Anthony or one of his friends would answer with the security chain keeping the door from opening more than a couple inches. Derek would ask to see Sammie, they would say no. Derek would ask whoever answered to go ask Sammie if he could see her and they would disappear behind the door and either ask her or stand here for a minute. They'd open the door again, tell him Sammie didn't want to see him and close the door. Then, Derek would sit and wait.

Derek wasn't the only one Sammie refused to speak to. Andria hadn't been able to speak to her and neither had James. The shouting matches at Anthony's door routinely brought the police to the apartment complex and usually ended with whichever relative had tried to get in being escorted off the premises much like Derek had been that first night. He didn't know why Sammie refused her family. Anthony, probably. Anthony would keep away any threat to his plan. He wanted Sammie away from Derek and he wasn't about to let anyone in who might undo the brainwashing he'd pulled off.

He would call a few times a day and, every once and a while, he'd catch Sammie's voice in the background, but mostly it was Anthony or his friends. Once, at three in the morning, he'd received a phone call with laboured breathing on the other line. Hopeful, he said her name, asking if it was her, begging her to please come home, but the caller hung up without speaking. Derek hit the star-sixty-nine buttons as fast as he could and Anthony picked up the phone, yelling at him for calling in the middle of the night.

Sleep came sparsely if it came at all and, when it did, it was fitful and riddled with nightmares that woke him in a cold sweat. He dreamed of Mark's death, relived his funeral. He saw Sammie's face in the shadows and, when he darted to find her, she was gone. Clooney lay dead in pools of blood. Keira died in his arms, her blood pooled over his hands and wouldn't come off. He sat in the front yard watching Ellie play with Clooney and didn't get there in time to stop masked men from snatching her into an unmarked van. He came home to find Sammie lying in bed black and blue and bleeding from human bites that riddled her skin. He held Sammie's hand as the doctor detailed the damage of the rape. Ellie slipped through his hands, died in his hands, vanished from his hands. Explosions threw him and the air filled with Nick's manic laughter.

In one nightmare, he'd see Nick attacking Sammie with the tire iron and was running and running towards them and the distance between him and Sammie kept stretching. No matter how far he ran, she kept getting father away from him. He'd shout her name and Nick didn't even look up. When he woke, he could hear her screams ringing in his ears. He heard them for days afterwards. Whenever he closed his eyes, her screaming came back, ripped his soul open and tore into his heart, leaving behind bits too thin to ever be sewn together and heal.

He'd wake up, heart trying to beat it's way out of his chest and her turn to find her, half asleep and trying to reassure himself that his Sammie was alright, only to feel her spot in the bed empty and the sheet cool. A splash of icy water to his senses, the reality that Sammie was gone, had left him and filed for divorce, hit him all over again. Every time he woke from a terror filled sleep, he woke to re-learn that the woman he loved more than his own life was gone and the pain crippled him each time.

Derek shed more tears, prayed more prayers, begged God for help more in those two weeks than he had in his entire life. The more tears he cried, the more seemed to appear, waiting to be shed themselves. He'd once thought that people could eventually cry themselves out, cry so hard, for so long that they had no tears left to cry. After his father died, he'd cried for longer than he could remember, but eventually the tears dried.

The tears for his wife refused to be staved away for long. He was on mandatory leave while Internal Affairs investigated the explosion, but he'd gone into work once to do some paperwork he needed to file and had to excuse himself and slip away into the bathroom to compose himself more than once. He went to his mom's house and broke down crying in front of her and his sisters. He went to Andria's house and ended up staying the night in Sam's old bedroom, crying himself to sleep and hearing James and Andria shed their own tears.

Derek had worked so hard for so long to become strong enough that nothing could hurt him, so that he was vulnerable to nothing. Than, for whatever reason, he'd let this beautiful, vulnerable woman into his life and into his heart. She tore his walls down one brick at a time, wormed her way into the core of his heart, a place he though he'd sealed away so impenetrably, and taken such a residence there that there was nothing remaining in her absence. Nothing but an emptiness that ate at him from the inside out and left open sores in its wake.

Which is where Derek found himself that morning. Lying on his back in the middle of the bed with his pajamas and the sheets beneath him soaked with sweat like it was a hundred and ten degrees. His chest heaved as he tried to regain control of his adrenaline-jumbled breathing. The cold air chilled the sweat on his skin, freezing, but Derek didn't notice. The cold against his skin was nothing compared to the cold in his soul. His breathing became more jagged, wracked with sobs that curled his strong shoulders inward in a hopeless attempt to protect what remained of his battered heart.

Curling onto his side, Derek cried. His wrenching sobs sounded more like a gutted animal than any man. He sobbed for the empty place next to him, the place where Sammie belonged, the place where he should have woken to find her flat on her stomach with her face buried in the pillow. He sobbed that he'd never be able to hold her again, never kiss her awake or fall asleep on the couch with her cradled in his arms. He mourned the loss of her head on his chest, her breathing even against his side, and her arm slung lax around his waist. He mourned the loss of _her_, just her; the loss of a love he'd never let himself wish for before her, the loss of looking into her eyes and seeing all his dreams in the way she smiled at him.

Derek grieved for the woman who was gone, not just from his bed, from his arms and his life. He grieved for the woman who'd been lost on October fifteenth, the one who never came out of the hospital. He grieved for the woman who opened her eyes to a life she would never be able to live, who opened her eyes to people who wanted the person she had been and would give anything to trade the person she was now for the one who had so innocently left to give a concert that night.

He ached for woman he'd fallen in love with, but ached more for the woman who was fighting against the very people who would love her until the end of time, who would do anything for her. His heart ached for his Sammie, for his Angel that he'd lost to a man he should have killed years ago. Derek's heart ripped in half over his choice not to shoot Nick as he tried to push into his apartment the night Sammie ran to him for help.

Derek cried for the daughter he never held, cried at being robbed of the chance to be her father. He cried over his own weakness, his inability to hold the baby girl he'd loved so desperately, missed so terribly. He cried at letting her down, at not being able to do the only thing she would ever need him to do – hold her while she died.

Derek did what he'd done every night for the past two weeks. He punched at his pillows in his anger, screamed and shouted at God, begged to understand why, why him, why his beautiful broken angel, why his precious baby girl. He muffled his fury in the blanket, his anger and his pain powerful enough to tense every muscle in his body. He cried so hard, so ugly, that it shamed him, cried out as much pain and anger as he could extricate from his soul, cried to fill the emptiness inside him, cried until he heaved and wretched. He cried until he was too exhausted to cry anymore and he lay curled in the middle of a waterlogged bed and wished for God to let it end, to just take him, end everything, let him see his daughter again, let him see the woman who'd died that day from his nightmare, let them be a family somewhere else since they couldn't be here. Exhaustion won out in the end, like it always did, and Derek slipped back into another fitful sleep to fight off another nightmare.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

"C'mon, Clooney," Derek knew his voice sounded exhausted and that's because it was. The past fourteen night gave him, maybe, twenty-four hours of sleep. Maybe. He was a walking zombie living in a house of memories at every turn. Any direction he turned brought a fresh onslaught of beautifully painful memories, each item triggered a feeling that part of him grasped at and part of him wanted to forget. As bad as the pain was, at least it proved that there had been something very real there once. That, at one point, a love so strong it permeated every bit of the house and every piece of riff-raff and collected junk proved that love had lived there, still lived there, just waiting to be picked up and saved.

Blinking, Derek focused on the dog hopping along on three legs, wagging his tail and hoping for a love and attention. His jaw trembled and his bit into his bottom lip to stop the tears threatening to fall. His dog was still there, still healthy and getting better with every passing day. The dog that tried to give his life to protect him looked so happy at Derek looking down at him, wagging his tail so hard he kept hopping his lone hind leg to keep from falling over.

Derek sank to the floor and gathered the wiggling dog into his lap. Clooney whined happily and licked Derek's face, his tail slapping against the floor as he tried to meld into Derek with his nearness. "I'm sorry, boy. I know you miss your mama. I do too. I miss her a whole helluva lot. I know… I know you missed me too, boy. I'm sorry. I haven't been a good dad lately. I'll try harder."

In that moment, though, Clooney didn't care. The love and attention in that moment meant he'd get it forever and that was all Clooney cared about. Derek changed the dressing over Clooney's stump and helped the dog up onto the couch. Crossing the room with the dog's eyes trained on his back, Derek shifted through the CDs until he found the one he wanted.

A picture of a younger Sammie, barely sixteen, was on the cover. She held her clarinet in her hands and her long, blond hair hung straight down her back, stopping at her shoulder blades. She wore a pair of jeans and a pretty purple blouse with small white polka dots that still hung in the closet. Her smile was bright and happy and above her head, the words "Samantha Shane" was printed in pink script. He knew this CD backwards and forwards. Popping the CD out of its jewel case, he slipped it into the CD player and pressed play. Sammie's jazz clarinet filled the room and Derek closed his eyes, losing himself in the music for a minute.

The sounds were comforting, somehow soothing to his soul, and he managed to fall into a peaceful sleep on the couch with Clooney contentedly snoozing beside him and Crookshanks perched on the back of the couch keeping careful watch over what was left of his family through the window that overlooked the front yard, waiting for his mama to come home again.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

_ "Hey, Derek, it's Rich Hunter from Undercover Ops. Just give me a call back, okay?"_

Derek woke as Rich rattled off some numbers on his answering machine and a steady knocking pounded on the door. He rolled off the couch, the music had long since stopped playing. Putting one foot in front of the other was awkward and the two kept getting tangled as Derek tried to rouse himself from the first three hours of nightmare-free sleep he'd had in two weeks. The doorbell rang again and Derek hollered that he was coming.

The mailman baulked when Derek opened the door and Derek wondered what he looked like. He hadn't shaved since Mark's funeral and he wasn't a hundred percent sure he'd bathed either.

"Derek Morgan?"

"Yup," his voice was hollow and empty.

"This is for you," the man handed over a flat manila envelope and Derek's gut tightened. "You need to sign for it."

Every sense of his surroundings left as Derek took the man's pen and signed the receipt in return for the envelope he _really_ didn't want. He closed the door behind him and heard the mailman hurry down the steps. Derek bent his head and smelt his shoulder. He hadn't bathed.

Walking lead-footed, he dropped himself into a seat at the dinning room table he'd picked out with Sammie a lifetime ago. He wasn't sure how long he sat and stared at the envelope. Maybe if he threw it in the trash and never opened it, its contents would disappear, would never have been. He could claim he'd never gotten the envelope, that someone had forged his signature.

Resigning himself, he turned it over and pulled the flap open. If any piece of paper could kill a man, Derek knew this was the one. His heart had surely stopped when he pulled out what he knew to be in the envelope, stopped, shriveled up in a piece of hard, black coal, and died right there in the centre of his chest.

Tears wouldn't come and Derek didn't understand why. Maybe because a person had to be alive to cry. The aching hurt he was so familiar with by now fill him, but this was somehow different, somehow more dangerous, full of a different kind of agony. Maybe this was the slow pain of death inching up on all sides, killing from the inside out. Could a man die from a broken heart?

Without really being aware of what he was doing, Derek showered and shaved, put on a pair of clean jeans and a soft cotton shirt. He pulled his Blackhawks sweatshirt over his head and grabbed his keys from the table by the door. Telling the dog and cat that he'd be back, he left. A drive down into Chicago and a trip up the stairs and Derek rang Anthony's doorbell.

"Can I see her?"

"No," Anthony tried to close the door, but Derek had his foot stuck in the jam.

"Please," Derek held up the envelope in his hand. "Please. If you let me see her –" Derek had to stop and close his eyes. "If you let me see her, I won't come back."

Anthony seemed to consider him for a while before nudging his foot from the jam. The door closed, the security chain scrapped against the door and it opened again. "C'mon. The door on the left there."

The apartment was clean, but sparse. Utilitarian. Derek let himself be glad it was clean. Sammie needed clean. "Has – has she been doing her therapy?"

"Every day," Anthony flopped down onto the couch, but kept his eyes trained on Derek like he didn't fully trust him not to grab Sammie and run. Not that the thought hadn't crossed Derek's mind. Though, how he was supposed to run down a narrow flight of concrete stairs with a handicapped woman slung over his shoulder, Derek wasn't quite sure.

"Good. Thank you." Derek took the steps towards Sammie's room and knocked on the door before stepping inside. His heart stopped at the sight of her. She sat, upright, in a chair by the window with a red toy piano in her lap. It was twenty-five keys and probably meant to be a toddler's first piano. Sammie held it with one hand and gently pressed on the keys with the other, tentative and hitting wrong notes. She looked up a second after he entered. The two stared at each other. "Hi, Angel."

Sammie didn't speak, so Derek stepped closer, closing the distance between them, and sat in the folding chair that Anthony had left in the room. They sat in silence for a time and Sammie began pressing down on the keys, undoubtedly trying to force some melody that was playing out in her head to play out on the little toy piano. Derek reached out and took her hand, carefully moving a few of her fingers until they were on the right keys. Sammie blinked at him and tried the keys again. The short melody rang out, not quite as full as it sounded on a normal piano, but the notes were right and Sammie's face broke out into a relieved smile, her eyes half closed and listening as she played the melody again and again.

Derek watched her face, as sad smile on his own face. A few tears leaked from her eyes and Derek wasn't sure if it was sadness because she knew why he was here or happiness at getting the piano to play what she heard. Derek settled on an odd combination of both before wiping the tears from her face. His fingertips slid over the thin scar on her right cheek and then the knotted flesh over the left side of her face.

"Sam, Angel," Derek kept his sad smile intact when she looked at him. "I got the papers today."

Sammie looked away from him and he saw her eyes well with real tears. With a hand under her chin, he made her to look at him and he saw the pain in her eyes, eyes he could read so easily, even now. He might not know why she'd done this, but he could see that she was grieving the loss of their marriage, the abandonment of their love, just as he was. Derek leaned forward and caught her lips with his. He wasn't sure if she'd pull back or not, but after a moment's hesitation, she let go of the piano and returned his kiss. The piano fell to the floor with a clunk when Sammie's hands went to Derek.

"I love you, Samantha Morgan," Derek smoothed down her short hair. "I don't understand this, Angel."

"Better way," Sammie told him. She's steeled herself as best she could, practiced her answers and tried to brace herself for his coming, but nothing could ever prepare her for his kiss or the dejected, tender way his eyes looked at her – like she was breaking his heart. Why couldn't he just hate her? It would be so much easier to do the right thing if he just hated her for it.

"Sam, how could anything where we aren't together be better?" Derek took her hands in his. "I can't – This is crazy. Divorced, Sam?"

"Better," she repeated her answer. "This better."

Derek laughed unhappily, "This isn't better, Angel. I meant it when I said for better or worse. I meant it when I said forever."

"Over, Derek."

"Oh, it's not over," he touched her face again. "These papers say it's over, but this, you and me, being your husband will never be over for me. I love you. You're the only one for me. No, you are. You're my forever, Sam."

"No! Over. We over," Sammie pulled her hands away, a terrified, frantic look in her eyes. He had to move on. She was doing this so he could move on, so he wouldn't be tied down to a worthless woman like herself, a complication, a medical mess. She was giving up the man she loved so he could be happy and follow his dreams and here he was screwing it up! "Over, Derek!"

She started crying; she cried all the time now. The doctor said the mood swings were misfiring's in her brain. She knew when they were happening, fully aware she was being irrational or unreasonable, but she couldn't get control over it. She'd cry knowing full well she had no reason to cry, but she couldn't stop crying until it stopped of it's own violation. She'd be furious for a reason she didn't know and couldn't pull herself out no matter how hard she tried.

Derek tried to pull her into his arms, but she fussed, twisting and turning out of his grip, until he gave up. She did not want to be held. If she let him hold her, she'd go straight to Judge Lombardi and have him rip up the divorce papers. Derek didn't understand now, she knew that. But he'd understand in a few years when he was working for the FBI and doing everything he'd ever wanted. In a few years, he'd thank her for letting him free.

She struggled to wrestle the engagement ring and wedding band off her left finger and her heart shattered into pieces when they slipped past her knuckles. Derek held his hands up and shook his head when she tried to give them back to him.

"Absolutely not. I'm not taking those back, Samantha. They were a promise to you. A promise I still mean."

Her anger boiled over, unchecked by the logic that told her to calm down, and she held in a screech behind tightly closed lips. Sammie tried to grab his hand, but missed and her poor balance nearly sent her crashing to the floor. Derek caught her and righted her back in her chair. With a resigned sigh, he eased the most important promise he'd ever made her from her fist and put the precious rings in the hip pocket on his jeans. He didn't want the last thing they did to be fight over their rings. He'd leave them for her with her mother.

"I love you, Samantha," he kissed her again, gently, a quiet promise. "I'll always be here, Angel. I'll wait for you forever." Derek stood and picked up the toy piano, gently giving it back to her. Reluctantly, he walked towards the door where he paused with his hand on the doorknob. "Sam? Promise me, you'll take care of yourself. And, please, go back to your mom and brother. They're terrified."

Sammie nodded and, with a final affirmation of love, Derek slipped through the door and closed it behind him.

"Love Derek," she whispered when she knew he was gone, her fingers fumbling over her bare ring finger and, this time, she fully meant the tears that spilled and the gut-wrenching sobs that wracked her body.

o o o o

_Although every man believes that his decisions and resolutions involve the most multifarious factors, in reality they are mere oscillation between flight and longing. – Herman Broch_

* * *

**A/N:**

**Derek and I have been fighting the past month or so. Particularly this last week. He would _not _come out and play with me and I found that especially insulting. We had words yesterday. We fought rather loudly and publicly. I threatened to kill him, blow him up, defenestration was mentioned. Until Ren reminded me that if I killed Derek off, I'd have to rewrite _Mystery Muse_. Fuck. Derek won. But he musta heard that I was planning his demise, so he came out to play about eight hours ago or so (it's 9am here) and I wrote this entire chapter. I was about half way through when I realized why poor Derek was avoiding me. Poor, poor Derek. We definitely ventured through a minefield of emotional trauma today. But I'm rather proud of how this piece came out. But I now owe Derek some pie.**

**Writing this entire time, I was listening to my Cracked Concrete playlist which is essentially, The Fray's three albums, David Cook's two albums and the Scripts two albums on random in a playlist. That's my Cracked Concrete playlist. David Cook's song "Time Marches On" started playing while I was writing Derek grieving and I just started bawling like an idiot. And, of course Murphy's law kicked in and then The Script's song "I'm Yours" came on and I bawled even harder. Then The Fray's "You Found Me" which was pretty much the theme song for this entire fic and I lost it. I mean, if I made a trailer for this fic, that would be the song playing in the background. And then - AND THEN The Script, the fucking Script and their stupidly beautiful song "If You Ever Come Back" and I was a bloody mess. Snot everywhere. An entire box of used tissues strewn across my bed. Puffy eyes. It was beautiful. If Potatohead had been there, he'da proposed so fast.**

**Honestly, though, writing this chapter was like wrenching my heart out. I've been dreading this chapter since I started this fic. I love these characters so much. They're my friends. It hurts to hurt them, so see them in so much pain. So why do I do it? Obviously, because I'm vicious and evil. I really, _really_ owe them pie.**

**So, I wrote all night because I didn't want Derek to catch on to what I was doing to him and escape while I slept. And, of course, I got hungry at about 6, 6:30. So I had meatloaf for breakfast. You know what's _really_ good on meatloaf? Alfredo sauce. #italian**

**And I can't even go to sleep, because Italy plays Spain in an hour and a half and I'll be dead, cold and buried before I miss that game and you all know it. VIVA ITALIA.**

**So... yeah. I love you Derek?**

**Thanks so much for reading, I love you all loads, please don't kill me and tell me what you think - good, bad, sobbing hysterically like me, furious for causing them pain.**

**Love, Thalia**


	43. Chapter 43

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.**

* * *

"_The hottest love has the coldest end." – Socrates_

o o o o

5 March 2002

"You sure you don't wanna come back and get the second one sometime later?" The tattoo artist finished washing his upper arm with the green soap and spread a large bandage over it, taping it into place.

"No," Derek shook his head. "I want to do it now."

In truth, he hadn't even felt Sammie's initials being tattooed into his bicep the past few hours. He hadn't felt much of anything the last five days. All he felt was numb and hollow. All he'd done was sleep and drink. He wasn't sure if his sleep was nightmare free because the alcohol knocked him out or if the nightmares were gone because his waking hours were nightmare enough to render the rest insignificant.

Derek leaned forward against the support to allow the tattoo artist access to his back so the angel wings could be inked just below his neck. Angel wings for his Ellie.

After he'd left Anthony's apartment that day, Derek had gone home and sat on the couch, staring at his hands. His thoughts were too muddled to for him to understand. They were present, but behind a wall of fog Derek couldn't reach through. The hollow where his heart had been ached. He wanted to hit something, but he was too exhausted to summon the energy. Instead, he went to the kitchen and pulled a beer from the fridge.

The first beer went down quickly, then the second and the third, he didn't remember the fourth or fifth or sixth. Neither did he remember the vodka or the bottle of red wine, but the proof was in the bottles. He wretched until he was dry heaving and then spent the next two days drinking himself into a hazy state of dangerously intoxicated and violently hung-over.

His sister, Sarah, found him Sunday night, unconscious on the couch and dragged him to the hospital to have his stomach pumped. He'd come-to about three in the morning with Fran, Sarah, Desiree, Andria and James all sitting in his hospital room. The relief in their eyes was brief before Sarah stood and started shouting at him.

"_You said you wanted time to be alone. We gave you time. And this is what you do? Dammit, Derek, do you even know how much you drank? You're lucky to be alive! If I hadn't found you, you'd be dead right now!"_

Dead sounded so good to Derek.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

It was Tuesday night and Derek hadn't touched alcohol since being released from the hospital mid-Monday. The hours-old tattoos felt like a brush burn, but that was the least of his pain. His stomach was still reeling from the amount of alcohol he'd consumed.

"Clooney, just go in the backyard, I don't want to walk you right now."

Clooney whined and dropped his leash in Derek's lap, sitting down and thumping his tail on the floor. Crookshanks slinked under Derek's arm, nuzzling his head against Derek's side. Derek groaned and dropped his head back. Clooney barked twice.

"Backyard, dog! Go in the backyard!"

Clooney kept barking and the phone started ringing. Groaning louder, his head pounding, Derek pushed up and went over to the phone, snatching it up and answering.

"Hello?"

_ "Derek Morgan?"_

"Speaking," Derek rubbed his forehead.

_ "Derek, it's Rich Winters from –"_

"From Undercover Ops, I remember."

_ "Fantastic. We're still looking for someone to go undercover in Detroit. You're still the best man for the job and we were hoping you'd given it some more thought," Rich said hopefully._

"I hadn't really," Derek told him, sitting down at the kitchen table and letting Crookshanks jump up to his lap to the table. "Can you tell me about it again?"

_"We want to take down the Black Mafia Family. We've been investigating them for the past ten years or so, but we can't get close enough. The Department of Justice wants the Organized Crime Drug Enforcement Task Force to start bringing them down, but they don't have enough insider information to do enough. We have to get someone on the inside, get what we need to know and then get that person out so we can get the brothers."_

"Detroit, huh? How long do you think it'll take?"

_"A year, maybe two."_

"What would I go under as?"

_ "Small time drug trafficker from Chicago. We want you to get with BMF by getting in with the sister. She's the weak link. The brother's have split – one's in LA and the other's in Atlanta. The sister's still in Detroit. We think if you get in with her, the brothers will take you in."_

"Okay. How much time do I have to think about this?"

_ "A week? We need someone in within the next six weeks and it'll take about a month to get you briefed, trained and create a history."_

"Okay. I'll think about it and I'll call you back."

Derek hung up and sat staring at the phone. Clooney barked again and Derek shook his head. "Fine, let's go. If I throw up on the sidewalk, it's your fault, Cloon."

Clooney happily sat still for Derek to hook on his leash and Crookshanks dashed out the door when Derek opened it. Derek led Clooney down the wheelchair ramp, Crookshanks slinking along behind them as Derek tried to close the door. "You wanna come? Fine. Whatever, C. Just don't run off."

His next-door neighbour waved when he saw them and came off the porch.

"Hey Derek. How's the hero doing?" The man shook Derek's hand and knelt down to Clooney, pulling one of the ever-present Milkbones from his pocket and feeding it to the dog.

"He's doing alright. Getting use to three legs," Derek answered. Small talk was made for a while before the man went back to his porch and Derek, Clooney and Crookshanks continued their walk. Clooney stopped and sniffed everything, happy to be outside. Crookshanks darted off up to another house and Derek kept walking. The cat would come back when whatever had caught his eye stopped being interesting.

"What do you think, Cloon? What should I do?"

They walked through the open space at the cul-de-sac at the end of the road and across the road to Lake Michigan. Crookshanks appeared as Derek and Clooney sat down along the shore. The cat jumped up onto the bench next to Derek and Clooney plopped himself down on the ground.

"It's the chance of a lifetime," Derek ran a hand over the back of his head.

"What's the chance of a lifetime?" James picked up Crookshanks and sat down next to Derek with the cat trying to crawl out of his arms. "I saw you crossing the street as I parked. So what's the chance of a lifetime?"

"The DEA is out for the Black Mafia Family. They want someone to go in undercover, infiltrate the family. They need more information before they go in full."

"That's a big deal," James nodded, looking straight ahead as Crookshanks sprang free. "So… you're leaving."

"I dunno. I…"

James bent down and scratched Clooney behind the ear. Derek stood.

"You're running away," James' voice was soft.

"What?"

"You're running away from the pain," James said again, louder. "It hurts too much to be in that house, hell, just in Chicago in general, and you're running away from it."

"I'm not running from anything," Derek scowled, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at James.

"Did you or did you not just give yourself alcohol poisoning because off all this shit? It sucks, Derek. It fucking sucks. It all fucking sucks. But you can't just run away!"

"Run away from what?" Derek gave a hollow laugh. "I don't have anything left to run from, James."

"What about me?" James demanded. "What about me! Damnit, I need you! I need you! Sam needs you!"

"Sam doesn't need me!" Derek yelled at him. "Sammie made that pretty damn clear!"

"Sam's an idiot! She's doesn't know what the hell she's done!"

"She knows exactly what she's done!"

"And what about me? What about Mum? What about your mum and your sisters? You're aunt? You're cousins? You're just going to drop everyone and leave? You're a damn coward!"

"Stop it, James Murdoch! You don't know what the hell you're talking about!"

"I know exactly what I'm talking about! You're running away when you should be staying!"

"Staying for what?" Derek was shouting now. "What the hell do I have left to stay for?"

"FAMILY! Dammit, Derek, you have family!"

"I don't have ANYTHING!" Derek shook, his anger surged through every vein in his body. "I don't have anything, James! I have nothing left here! You and Andria and Nonna are the only ones who don't think I destroyed Sammie. I see the way they look at me! Some black man knocks Sam up and then gets her friend and her baby killed and as good as killed her! They hate me, James! They don't want me as part of the family! They wish Sammie'd never met me!"

"That's not true!" James shouted back.

"It is true! You just don't see it because you don't want to!"

"You're seeing what isn't there!" James pushed Derek and Derek stumbled back a few steps. "You're in so much pain that you can't see what's right in front of your face! A family that loves you! Well, ya know what, we're in pain too! You're not the only one who lost Keira and Ellie and Sammie!"

"My daughter and my wife!"

"MY SISTER!" James pushed Derek again. "She's my goddamned sister! My sister, my niece and the girl who was at my house so often she might as well have fucking lived there! You had Sammie for three years and this is the kind of pain you're in. I've had her for nineteen! Nineteen years she's been my sister! My best friend! We've been through hell together! Three whole years, wow, you must be dying inside, Derek, I'm so goddamn sorry for you. You ever think about me? About Mum? About my aunts and uncles and cousins? My nonna?

"You think you're in pain? Think about ours for a second! Think about the pain you're in over three years with her and then try and comprehend ours! We've had you for three years, Derek. You've been part of our family for three years, the same amount of time you had Sammie. Think about the pain of losing you. We lose Ellie and Keira and Sammie and then you fucking run away because you can't handle your own pain? How much do you think this family can handle, Derek? HOW MUCH!"

"The family'd be fine without me," Derek seethed, turning away from James.

"Don't turn your back on me, Derek Morgan! I'm your brother! You owe me more than that!"

"I DON'T HAVE ANYTHING LEFT TO GIVE YOU, JAMES!"

"I HAVEN'T ASKED FOR ANYTHING!" James pushed him a third time. "Turn around and face me! _Turn around and face me._"

A few people walking along the shore stared as they walked passed, but James and Derek were both too angry to notice. Derek turned and the two stared each other down in the way only brothers could.

"What about your mum?"

"She'll be fine."

"She'll be fine?" James started laughing. "She'll be _fine_? What the hell kind of son are you? You know what would happen to her if you vanished? The same thing that's happening to _my_ mum! You know what Mum does every day? She cries and worries and tries to do the right thing but she doesn't know what the right thing is! None of us knows what the right thing is right now, but I can guarantee you it isn't running away and risking your life pretending to be someone else because being yourself hurts too much!"

Derek punched James in the jaw and James fell backwards with the force of it. Getting back to his feet, James threw himself at Derek, landing a fist on the ball of Derek's cheek. Punches flew for a minute before James drew back, a disgusted look on his face.

"You're a coward, Derek. I thought you were a hero, and maybe part of you still is, but right now you're nothing but a damn coward. Go! Go play soldier, go see if being someone else makes your life hurt a little less and, when it don't, you don't come crying back to me. When you get yourself found out as a cop and those drug lords kill you, I'll be here holding your mother up at your funeral with the rest of our family wondering what in God's name happened to the man I looked up to. I was proud to call that man my brother. But you? I don't even know the hell you are."

James stalked off, leaving Derek standing by the bench with a stinging face. Derek sank back onto the bench and, when Derek was sitting again, Clooney lay down again and put his head on his paws. Derek felt sick again, like the fight with his brother made him as sick as the alcohol.

James was wrong. Derek wished the James were right, but he knew the boy was wrong.

"C'mon, Cloon. Let's go home."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

7 March, 2002

"You've made up your mind, Agent Morgan?" Rich Winters stood when Derek walked through the open door. "Oh, this is Liam Cody, we work on the same team."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Cody," Derek shook the man's hand.

"You too, Agent. Rich was telling me you were thinking about being our man in Detroit."

"Yeah, uh… I've been thinking about it and I've decided to accept the offer," Derek nodded. "What do we need to do next?"

"Give you some training, a crash pad it Detroit, and set you up with the offices there. You'll have a handler there, someone to report to and keep you safe. We'll get a history made for you – name, background, that sort of thing. You got any tattoos or anything we should know about? Sicknesses?"

"No sicknesses. Nothing like that. I blew out my knee in college, but it doesn't bother me anymore. I've got a lion on one arm, initials on the other and wings on my back. Initials and wings are a few days old."

"What are the initials?"

"S.S.M." Derek ran a hand over the tattoo on his arm without thinking. "My wife's initials."

"Okay, we'll find you a name that fits it."

"I only have one condition. I wanna take my dog with me. He's a good dog. Very well trained. He's my partner. He lost a leg saving my life in a bombing. I can't leave him behind."

"Son, I don't know if this is really a place for dog."

"He's a smart dog. He'd be good to have there."

"Well, we'll talk about it, alright?" Rich smiled. "I'm sure we can work something out."

"Alright."

"You sure you want to do this?" Liam asked and Derek nodded. "Great! Take this two doors down on your left and Joanne start you on the initial paperwork."

When Derek left, Liam went and closed the door behind him. "You sure about this Rich? The man just lost his wife and daughter. He's reckless."

"He's perfect." Rich looked up from his computer. "The tragic hero. His father died trying to stop an arrest, he worked his way off the street to a football scholarship. Became a cop, bomb squad, protected his community. Fell in love with a victim of domestic abuse, saved her, had a family and then had it taken from him. Lost his wife and daughter to the violent man he saved his wife from, the one he put in jail and the courts let out. Then he goes to try and take down drug lords.

"Liam, when the Black Mafia kills Derek Morgan, the entire country will hear his story. The entire country will fall in love with this man and his story. They'll be outraged over his death and we'll have everyone's support when we go in and take down the Black Mafia Family with one fell swoop. His death'll be the end of the Black Mafia Family."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

15 March, 2002

"Elaine Madison Morgan, October fifteenth 2001," Derek whispered the words as he lay the pink rose at Ellie's grave and ran a hand over the etching. "I love you, little girl. I miss you. You would be five months old today, ya know that? I'd probably… heh, Ellie, I'd probably be baking you a cake right now, because I'm a big idiot. Eh, I don't care. I'd have baked you that cake, Ellie."

The cemetery was quiet that afternoon and Derek liked it that way. He liked the privacy to talk to his daughter without feeling like a fool for talking to air.

"I got you a flower. Your Aunt Paola runs a flower shop, you know that? She tried to give me a dozen, but it didn't seem right. One felt right. I got a dozen for your mama, though. Big red ones. Those are her favourite. She loves red roses. I always get her a dozen red roses and she acts surprised like she can't believe it every time."

Derek traced the letters of her name again.

"I'll be gone for a while, Ellie. I'm going undercover in a drug trafficking operation. I'm helping bring them down. I want to go. When drug rings like that are gone, cities will be better for kids, safer. Your Uncle James doesn't see that, but taking down one of the biggest drug distribution rings in the country could change a whole lot for kids like you would have been. You've have been safe from stuff like that, Ellie. I'd have protected you with me life if I could've. I tried. I did the best I could, but…

"Little girl, I'm doing this for other little girls and boys just like you'd have been. If I can make the streets a little safer for a single girl and boy, than it'll be worth it."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

24 March, 2002

"What do you mean she doesn't want any of her things?" Derek asked, pacing back and forth across his living room. "Nonna, that's crazy. Her clarinet? Her piano? Her cat? Nonna, she doesn't want Crookshanks? What? No, I don't – Of course, Nonna. Yes. I'll keep the cat. I love the stupid cat."

Crookshanks, seemingly knowing he was being talked about, wound his way through Derek's legs.

"Nonna… is she okay? Did she get my flowers? That's good. Thanks, Nonna. Yes… no. Heh, yeah. I love you too, Nonna. Yes, I promise I'll talk to you soon. Goodbye, Nonna. Give Sammie a kiss for me if you can."

Derek hung up the phone and looked around. Sammie's things were everywhere and Derek didn't know what to do with any of it. Keep it, he supposed. He'd never be able to give away his angel's piano or much less anything else of hers. Looking around some more, he ran a hand over the wall. Derek walked into the kitchen and opened the pantry door, looking at the door jab and the lines he'd painted there a foot apart to measure Ellie's height as she grew. He looked at the tile he'd laid so carefully and the pictures on the wall. Sighing, Derek leaned his forehead against the door jam. He hit the numbers on the phone still in his hand and held it to his ear and waited.

"Hey, Mama. I have a favour to ask of you."

ooo ooo ooo ooo

15 April, 2002

"Sam?" James knocked on his sister's door. "Samantha? Open the door, Sam. Please? Sam?" No answer came and James sighed, trying the doorknob. Locked. "C'mon, Sammie, let me in. It's your birthday, Sam. At least let me come in and wish you a happy birthday. Please?"

There was no response from the other side of the door and James went to his room across the hall. He grabbed the straightened out paperclip from his desk drawer and went back to Sammie's door.

"Sam, I'm coming in," he squatted down and slipped the paperclip into the little hole in the centre of the knob, moving it carefully until it was on the button and then pressed. When he heard the pop, he pocketed the tool and pushed the door open. Sammie was lying on the bed turned away from him. Crossing the room in a few strides, he sat on the bed next to her and shook her shoulder.

"Happy birthday, big si –" James' voice stopped mid-word when Sammie rolled towards him. Her lips were colourless and her skin was grey. The beds of her fingernails her blue and she wasn't breathing. Next to her, on the other side of the bed, dozens of pills were scattered on the sheets and the floor. James grabbed the sheet of paper on the pillow by her head.

_ I love you._

"No, no, no," James rolled her onto her back and picked her up, carrying her off the bed and laying her out of the floor. "Don't you dare do this to me, Samantha Shane Morgan. Don't you dare leave me."

James pressed his hands over her sternum and started pumping evenly. He pinched her nose, tilted her head back and breathed into her mouth.

"MUM! MUM, CALL NINE-ONE-ONE! MUM! CALL NINE-ONE-ONE! Breathe, you selfish idiot. Breathe. God, please, please, please, don't take my sister. MUM!"

ooo ooo ooo ooo

Derek stepped out onto the streets of Detroit, outside the club he knew she'd be in. He looked around and checked out his surroundings. Reaching up, he ran a hand over the cornrows his hair had been braided into and the chain around his neck shifted. He'd spent a week in the outfit already, getting used to his new persona, but it still felt a bit off. Clooney trotted along besides Derek as he walked down the street. Nobody looked at them twice.

It was April fifteenth. His Sammie's twenty-second birthday. Fran would take money from his account to have Paola send her a dozen red roses on his behalf. He thought for a second, trying to imagine the party they'd be having at Ponsiglione's later tonight and wishing he could be there.

His head snapped back to the present when he saw a girl step out of the club. She was it. That was her.

"C'mon, Cloon. Show time."

Crossing the street, Derek put his head down and walked forward with a purpose. She was talking into her cell phone and never saw him coming. Derek turned and started walking backward, talking loudly to Clooney and the dog barked and jumped around playfully.

Derek crashed into the girl and they both went down. Clooney barked at the two and put his paws on Derek's chest and Derek rolled off the girl.

"Aw, man, I'm so sorry. My bad, my bad. I wasn't watchin where I was goin," Derek helped her up, then dusted himself off and flexing more than necessary.

For a second, she looked like she was about to bite his head off, but her anger smoothed out as she looked him up and down. Derek felt like she was undressing him – and she probably was – and Derek fought the keep the smile on his face. Only one woman was supposed to be looking at him like that. But Derek kept the smile in place and did his best to return the appreciative look. She smiled like the cat that ate the canary.

"Jade, I'm gonna have to call ya back, girl." She pocketed her phone and looked him up and down again. "So whacho name, handsome?"

"Sam. Sam Madison."

o o o o

"_Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars." – Kahlil Gibran_

**- The End -**

* * *

**A/N:**

**This story amazes me. It started off as therapy for me to deal with my own father's suicide. It wasn't fanfiction. Derek's name was originally Marc. It was set it my hometown, in my house. I was Sammie and my brother was James. It was supposed to be just a single scene. I wanted a bit of feed back, so I changed my name to Lizzie (then to Sammie), my brother's name to James, and Marc to Derek and posted it.**

**Something about Sammie and James and Derek caught my heart and they grew into characters of their own. Sammie isn't me, James isn't my brother. They decided they had a mind of their own and damned if I don't love them. Writing them, letting them work through their pain, helped me work through mine. I don't know where I'd be if I hadn't started writing this story.**

**Thank you for sticking with me the past two years and loving this story as much as I do. I love you all like friends.**

**_I'll see you soon~_  
**

**Love, Thalia**


	44. Sequel Preview

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.**

* * *

**NEXT FOR DEREK MORGAN~~**

******_"Neglected Hearts!"_**

**Here's a sneak peak at the first chapter!**

* * *

"_What you need to know about the past is that no matter what has happened, it has all worked together to bring you to this very moment. And this is the moment you can choose to make everything new. Right now." – Unknown_

o o o o

17 January, 2011

"Well hello gorgeous," Emily Prentiss muttered to herself and looked up when a fresh face walked through the glass doors into the bullpen area. Even with him looking down at the paper in his hand, Prentiss could tell he was one of the most beautiful men she had ever, and would ever, see off the silver screen. Silently begging he was a new employee, she pushed her chair away from her desk and winked at her co-worker and the owner of the adjourning desk, Dr. Spencer Reid, who'd noticed the newcomer as well, whispered a reminder about her boyfriend. "Hi. You look a little lost."

"Ha! That'd be because I am," the man looked up and Prentiss went a little weak at the knees when she saw his crystal blue-grey eyes. Those eyes, that tousled brown hair, and his cocky yet adorable smile combined with the way he looked in those jeans should be an illegal combination.

"I'm Emily Prentiss. I'm a member of Agent Hotchner's BAU team."

"It's nice to meet you. I'm James. James Murdoch."

"Good to meet you, James. Are you new to the BAU?" Prentiss ignored the way Reid coughed meaningfully and made a note to either throw something at him later or tell Calliope Sellers, Reid's fiancée, the next time he did something stupid. Besides, Eli had been deployed on another tour in the Middle East since the summer and she deserved a little flirting, didn't she? Why not with someone as gorgeous as this tan piece of art? It wasn't like she was going to act on it.

"Uh, no. I'm not. I'm looking for my brother-in-law. The woman at the front desk gave me his office number and directions, but I think I got turned around."

"Well, what office are you looking for?"

"Uh," James looked back down at the slip of paper. "Two eighteen."

"Ha! I'm sorry, she must have given you the wrong office number. Two eighteen can't be who you're looking for," Prentiss laughed a little.

"You sure? Oh. Okay. Well, maybe you can tell me where Derek Morgan's office is than."

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**FOR MORE Go read "_Neglected Hearts_," which is already up on my page!**

**Love you! Thalia**


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